Drabble Challenge
by Eskarina
Summary: My answer to a 100 drabble challenge. This is the biggest thing I've ever attempted, so feedback would be very nice. : Pairings and genres vary, there's probably something here for everyone. Rated for some language and implied situations
1. Introduction

_I don't own death note or any of the characters therein. This is a collection of drabbles, none of which are necessarily connected. Please R&R, I love feedback._

#1 Introduction

Hello there, people, shinigami, and any other entities that wish to gather around me this night.

Who am I?

I am the death note.

Oh please cease your gasps. Yes, it is true that I, a mere notebook, have sentience, though not the ability to speak or defend myself. I must always answer to the pen of my owner, and I rely on them for protection.

I have had many owners in my long existance, you see, in a way, I am _all_ the death notes. Yes, all of them, Ryuk's, Shidou's, Rem's, Gelous', all of them. My sentience runs through each notebook, flowing back into this penultimate one, me, the book of the shinigami king.

Now then, I have decided to tell ye mere mortals and shinigami a single secret of the death note and the tale around it. Think long and hard, for you will never have this chance again.

Well, what will you ask?

Perhaps what happens when a Shinigami dies? Is there more to it than dust and rust?

Or maybe why we forbade humans and Shinigami mating?

Or just _how_ Beyond was born with the eyes?

Or maybe you'd like to know the past of one of the great orphans.

Or what happened to Light's family?

Or—

What?

Are you _serious_?

This is one of the most complicated stories in the whole of the manga universe, there are about fifteen different sides to every single character, and almost all of them have a mysterious past and you want to know _that_?!

I offer to tell you a great secret and you want to know _that_?

Fine, waste your question, goddamn fangirls.

The following guys in Death note are either gay or Bi or have at least _thought_ about it: Light, L, Mello, Near, Matt, Matsuda, Aiber, Mikami, BB, Ryuk, Shidou and Roger.

There.

Now go away, I've got people to kill.


	2. Love

#2 Love

#2 Love

Because I love you, I shan't say a word.

That's how it has always been with you and me.

I said nothing when every now and then you stole a little money from the parents. Just enough so they wouldn't notice.

I never said a word when I saw you skip out on cram school every now and then.

Didn't even bat an eyelid that day I caught you trying a cigarette.

I actually _helped_ you hide those magazines.

I never said a word when I spotted you sneaking that miniature t.v. into a bag of chips.

Because I love you, I know what it would do to you if you were found out. I know how much it hurts you to be so perfect all the time.

I bit my lip all through it.

I even remained silent the day I wandered into your room and saw the drawer.

I opened it, and laughed at your hidden diary. It might have fooled any number of other people, but I know you.

I knelt and checked the underside. Saw the tiny hole.

It took me a while to work out what it was for, but I did. I'm not _entirely_ stupid.

I found it.

Your notebook. Filled with the names of all the people you had killed. And I didn't want to believe it, but I had to.

How could you?

You'd done bad things before, whenever your inner demon broke out, but never anything this serious. Always stuff I could ignore, things I could overlook and be quiet about.

But oh… Raito, what made you turn into this?

I cried a bit. Then pulled myself together and started putting things back to how they should be. So you'd never know I'd been in there.

I even did the pencil lead, the thing that you think I never noticed.

I'm quiet and silly, but not stupid, Raito.

I didn't even jump when I saw your shinigami. It never knew I was able to see it, and neither did you.

I bit my lip all through the years, even when it got me into trouble.

And then finally one day, we were told.

Told you died in capturing Kira. Because they thought the truth would be too much.

I suppose for mother it might have been.

I already knew.

My big brother, Kira. The boy who carried me on his shoulders, the most prolific killer in history.

I knew.

I could have solved the case at any time, saved hundreds of people's lives. Prevented Daddy's death.

But I kept quiet.

Because I loved you. Not the kira you, but the you who helped me with my homework, who teased me about boyfriends, who always seemed so proud of me, who gave me hugs and said I was his favourite girl in the world.

My big brother. I loved him.

I hated Kira.

It was just so sad that they lived in the same body.

I love you Raito, big brother.

I just wish you hadn't been Kira.


	3. Light

#3 Light

You were everything in the world to me. I was giving everything up for you, my love.

Oh, it was hard, especially after that last case in L.A., but I did it, because what I wanted more than anything was to be your wife, mother to your children, the centre of your world.

I wanted you to come home to our house in the suburbs and be greeted by our two children and a puppy. I wanted to be a soccar mom, I wanted to have a chance at a real, normal life.

Because at the end of the day, I was tired. I was tired of being in danger, tired of running around at L's whim, tired of having to fight and pull the trigger so many times.

It's a hard life. Harder when you're a woman because the system's already stacked against you.

And I've always been the strongest person I could but… I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to marry you.

And then he got you.

Kira.

Light Yagami.

Whatever you want to call him, he took you from me. He took away my only hope for a real, normal life, and all of a sudden it didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered.

All that I wanted was revenge. I wanted to find Kira and hurt him like he hurt me. I wanted to destroy his soul and his life, and damn if I wouldn't have shot my way through L himself to get to Kira if I had to.

I should have seen it in his eyes when I met him.

I've seen enough murderers to know the look in their eyes. They all get it, after the third or fourth victim.

A look of smugness. Of superiority, because taking lives gives them the feeling of god.

But I didn't see it. I let the boy take me into his little web of lie after lie.

I was a fly in his web, a mouse in his trap.

And when he whispered those words…

"I'm Kira."

…How much I _wanted_ to kill him on the spot. I _wanted_ to scream and shout to everyone that it was him. I wanted to contact L and warn him.

But he'd taken me.

My body wasn't mine. And no matter how I tried I couldn't stop it, the agonising way my form turned and walked from him. I raged inside my mind when he teased me and asked me if I wanted to use his phone.

I never liked being trapped, you knew that. Or cornered. This was worse than when that psychopath BB cornered me.

This was being trapped in my own body. This was the worst possible kind of torture.

I was helpless to stop myself. I watched myself as a reluctant passenger as I waited for the sun to set, wandered to the bridge over the river.

Stared down at the water.

Actually tied weights to my own body, because that evil little boy calling himself a god had written that no-one would find me.

Watched my own reflection come racing towards me in the cold, murky waters.

It took so little time. I should be thankful for that.

I watched the bubbles slowly stop coming from me… and let the darkness take me, because there was no point, no point at all.

And then there was Light.

I was never very religious.

But there really was a long tunnel, with a bright light at the end of it. And it was a warm and friendly, loving light, that was waiting for me.

I ran to it.

And the next thing I knew, I was on the driveway of a sweet little house in the suburbs. And my black, anonymous clothes had been replaced by pink blouse and jeans, and I was carrying a bag of groceries.

And there were two children running around together on the grass, a boy and a girl, with a little yellow puppy.

And the door to the house opened and you were there. And you smiled at me and hurried over to help me with the bags.

"Hello Mrs.Penber." You whispered in my ear. "I missed you."

I sighed so deeply, and felt everything just disappear. Because I had what I wanted, and nothing else mattered at all.


	4. Dark

#4 Dark

#4 Dark

L stirred imperceptibly in the bed, and listened harder.

There it was again, the sound of skin against carpet. Someone was in his bedroom.

His breath shortened slightly and he carefully set about pretending to be asleep. He mumbled faintly and turned over, facing the door, eyes tightly closed.

He let one slip open a little way, just enough so that he could see the intruder, and judge if he was in danger or he could fight his way out of this.

He sighed deeply and sat up when he saw the shape of the intruder in his room.

"Beyond." He stated. "You scared the hell out of me."  
Beyond shuffled his feet quietly. "I'm very sorry." He said in a monotone.

"I should hope so, I could have died of fright."  
BB shook his head, "You wouldn't have died tonight." He sighed, "I wanted to see you."  
L rubbed one eye, "I'm sure there are better times to come and see me than midnight."

He wasn't scared anymore. BB never frightened him, even though he scared all of the other heirs in the orphanage. With his creepy imitating of everything L did. To L, it wasn't weird or frightening; it was flattering, sweet, and almost adorable.

"I had a nightmare." BB whimpered, bringing his thumb to his mouth. "You were dead. I wanted to ascertain the truth of the matter."  
L smiled faintly, "Beyond, you can just say you were frightened. I won't think any less of you."

BB actually blushed faintly, then shuffled across the floor and sat himself awkwardly at the end of L's bed, knees to his chest.

L tilted his head, "Do I really look like that when I sit? No wonder my knees always hurt…"

BB smiled a little. A brightness came to his eyes.

L liked his eyes, though they scared the other children and concerned the adults. They were bright crimson, and the only difference left between the two since BB took to copying L.

The only thing L could never stand about BB was the way his eyes wandered. He had a tendency to stop looking at the person he was speaking to and let his eyes drift to the space above their heads for no reason.

L smiled back. "So you are now sure I am alive and well. Why not go back to bed?"  
BB shook his head; "I might have the nightmare again, if the conditions of my sleep are the same. And it was very disturbing, so I will not go back to sleep there."

L knew what the boy was getting at. Was this thing between them strange? The way they completed each other's sentences and thoughts… it was like being the same person. Or two sides to the same person, because while BB imitated L perfectly in most ways, there was one thing he couldn't seem to control.

L caught him once ripping the wings from flies, to see what they did. He spotted him once catching up frogs and squeezing them.

BB was cruel. And that was part of what frightened the others. But not L, because L genuinely didn't think that BB had it in him to hurt a human.

They were yin and yang, heads and tails, light and dark.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

L smiled faintly at the request. "My bed isn't all that big, Beyond."  
"I don't mind." BB replied, grinning madly at the thought of being pressed so close to the person he admired so much.

L knew he wouldn't win this argument, so he moved over a little more, so that he was pressed to the wall on one side of his bed, and lifted the sheets invitingly.

B bounced across the bed and dove beneath the covers, popping only his head out. The rest of him cuddled up to L in a way that might have been deemed inappropriate by anyone else in the world.

L just thought it was sweet.

He ruffled B's messy black hair. "Go to sleep now, B. Long day ahead of us, Watari is you, me and Angel hiking."

B shuddered faintly, either at the touch or the name of the other successor, Angel.

Angel was brighter than B, and beautiful with it, all long, deep red hair and bright emerald eyes, with a smile that lit up the room and a body that could reduce a man to tears from across a room.

And BB knew L loved her. He knew they shared their books and sweets and secrets that he wasn't privileged to know.

He also knew that the fifteen-year-old beside him had lost his virginity to the girl.

Not that they told him that, oh no, he worked it out. He spotted L sneaking his bedsheets to the laundry room a day earlier than usual. He noticed Angel and L walking around together more than they should.

After that, he just waited until he heard Angel leaving her room one night and crept after her, watched her go into L's room, and listened at the door.

He hated it. He hated the idea of anyone getting closer to L than he did, but he didn't say anything, because he knew that it wouldn't last.

It would last approximately two more weeks. Then, Angel would die.

He wasn't sure how, but he could make a guess.

He closed his eyes against L's chest, and slept.

And two weeks later, when L left the house for the first time since his childhood, Angel went to BB and told him that she was pregnant.

And B saw black.

When he next saw the world as it was, he had killed A.

He was clever. He knew how to make it appear a suicide. He dropped a whisper or two to the adults that he was concerned for Angel. She'd been getting lower test scores anyway, as luck would have it. It was very easy to make people believe that she did it due to pressure.

Only L never believed it. At the funeral his eyes fixed on B the whole time. Onyx staring into Ruby.

Afterwards, L spoke to him privately. Told him to get the hell away from the orphanage and never come back. Told him he would never be L's heir now. Told him that he couldn't prove it, but he knew exactly what B had done.

And B had smiled, the dark closing over him.


	5. Seeking Solace

#5 Seeking Solace

#5 Seeking Solace

Some eat, some cry, some pray, some scream, some drink, some shoot up, some die.

Everyone has something they do when the weight of the world gets to be too much. Human nature requires that we have some little insanity switch inside us that occasionally flicks into the 'on' position.

We need the occasional release of selfishness, to stop the madness.

I know I am being selfish and irrational, because I have so much to be thankful for.

Sometimes all I can do is count the things I do have.

I have a home I can always go to. I have a faithful old companion whom has been a father to me since I can remember. I have three wonderful boys whom I get to see growing into truly incredible men and they all look up to me, I have very good health, considering my diet and weak immune system. I am very well-off, I'm one of the most intelligent people on the planet. I get to spend every day of my life only doing what I want.

But that's not enough sometimes.

I seek my solace in the books of Arthur Conan Doyle, and the tales of Sherlock Holmes.

And when they do nothing to cheer me, I imitate the master detective and go to my room, take out my own precious violin, and play.

While I play, I indulge myself in thinking of what I want.

I want to be a child again. I want to go back in time to when I was a little boy who still had a mother and father and baby brother. I want to have one more game of tennis with daddy. One more bedtime kiss from mummy.

One last laugh at my baby brother's little face, as it screwed up in a sneeze.

But they're all gone. Taken so unfairly from me in the blinking of an eye, on the night of my fifth birthday, making it so that I could never enjoy Halloween again.

I want to go back to Wammy's and play with my boys. I want to take them all on walks through the countryside and show them all the different flowers and plants and birds and trees. I want to show them how beautiful the world is, before they become too old to appreciate it. I want to sit and eat chocolate with Mello, play a video game with Matt and lay on the floor and complete a jigsaw with Near.

I want to live long enough for them to join me on cases; we'd be an unstoppable team of justice. The four boys from Wammy's, all working together to save the world from Kira.

Sometimes tears fall on my violin. Not often, though. When I remember the other things I want.

I want Angel to be alive again. I want to hold her one more time. I want to kiss her just once more. I want to hear her voice telling me she loves me.

I want BB alive. I want him standing in front of me, so I can ask him _why_ he did what he did to her. I want him to have not done those hideous things he did. I want him to be my best friend again. So that we three, A, B and L can all be together again.

I play sadder songs if _she's_ been hanging around the headquarters again.

Because after A I promised myself I would never ever love again, because it hurt too much. And every time I loved someone, they seemed to die.

But then _he_ had to show up.

I'd never considered another man before, but I suppose it's not surprising. After Angel… I could never love another woman, I'd only compare them to her, and death blinds all to the faults of the deceased.

Why, _why_ did it have to be Yagami-kun?

I want him to not be Kira. But I know he is.

I want to see him smile properly at me. I want him to hold me and kiss me and be mine like I want so badly to be his.

I want to find out that Kira is someone else. I want to see him arrested and turn to Light, and shake his hand and tell him I want him to come with me on all my future cases.

Be my Doctor Watson, as Matt would put it.

I want to hear him whisper my real name in a passionate voice into silent midnight air.

I want to just stop being L.

I want to be Liam Lawliet, I want to be a human man who just wants the same things everyone in the world wants.

But I'm not, and I can't.

So I seek my solace.

I eat all the time anyway. I never was one for crying. I became an atheist some fifteen years ago now. Screaming suggests insanity. The taste of alcohol makes me retch. Watari would never forgive me if he caught me using drugs.

And I'm not allowed to die.

So I play mournful tunes and ache with wants and wishes. With unrequited love and misery. I let it all out through a tune that I have never written down.

And once it is over, I can put it all away in the violin case.

And for one more night I have found solace.


	6. Breaking Away

#6 Breaking away

(The song in this chapter is 'Process man' by Great big Sea, I don't own it, but it's a great song)

_And its go boys go_

_They'll time your every breath  
And every day you're in this place your two days nearer death  
But you go ..._

I ought to try and escape from you; you're no good for me. You're dangerous and violent and every day I spend with you makes me more and more certain I'm going to die by your hand.

_Well, a process man am I and I am tellin' you no lie  
I work and breathe among the fumes that tread across the sky_

Everyone who has ever met us always says something like that to me. 'You ought to get out while you still can'.

I know very well I ought to run away from you before I'm in any deeper. I know that you don't appreciate even a little bit all the things I do for you, because that's how it's always worked between us. I don't get rewarded just for doing what you expect me to do.

_There's thunder all around me and there's poison in the air  
There's a lousy smell that smacks of hell and dust all in me hair_

It's like being in a one-man army sometimes. Even when you had other goons I was the one who got all the rotten jobs piled on me, because that's what I've always done. I've always been your errand boy, your slave, your cannon fodder, and your nothing.

Everyone else who knows me whispers to me that I'm too nice for my own good, that you don't deserve someone so kind.

I know that.

Even after we have sex, you never seem to appreciate me. During you're just indulging in hormones you can't control. Afterwards you mess my hair and go back to work, without so much as a 'thanks'.

_Well, I've worked among the spitters and I breathe the oily smoke  
I've shovelled up the gypsum and it neigh 'on makes you choke_

You're a snake in the grass, a poisonous flower; you've got a way of speaking that makes people want to do things for you, in the hopes that you might smile at them.

But I've only ever seen you smile once, and it wasn't at anyone who had done something for you. It was at _him_. Your hero.

_  
I've stood knee deep cyanide, got sick with a caustic burn  
Been working rough, I've seen enough to make your stomach turn  
_

What a great twist to the tale, eh? Your only true love is the person who treated _you _like just another person.

I bite my lip though it all. I do everything for you that you ask, and things you don't ask me to as well.

Like when you're just starting to crave your chocolate, I'm always the first one handing you a new bar.

_There's overtime and bonus opportunities galore  
The young men like their money and they all come back for more_

I know I ought to leave. I know there's probably better things out in the world for me.

But I can't. I can't because the day we met at Wammy's house, the day you first came up to me and demanded I come and play war with you against Near, the first day you spent giving me orders, I fell in love.

It's not that shocking, everyone falls in love with you. You don't even care. But believe me, none of them have it as bad as I do.

_  
But soon your knocking on and you look older than you should  
For every bob made on the job, you pay with flesh and blood  
_

The last night of our lives, everything changed though.

I knew that when you came home and grabbed my wrist, stopping me playing, and told me to come to bed with you.

I knew when you let me top you, flooding me with so much elation that I wanted to cry.

I knew afterwards when you actually cuddled up to me and told me I could smoke if I wanted.

And when I asked you what had gotten into you, you said that you just wanted me to know you appreciated everything I did for you.

You said you knew you were an asshole, and you didn't know how I put up with everything you did.

You said you loved me.

_And its go boys go  
They'll time your every breath_

So that's why I didn't mind when my car was finally cornered and I was trapped.

I didn't mind getting out and smiling and holding up my hands without much hope.

I didn't mind the endless agony of every bullet slamming into me and throwing me across the car and onto the ground.

_And every day you're in this place your two days nearer death  
But you go ..._

I ought to have left you long ago. I know that. I ought to have got out of the way while the getting was good. Break away from you as your hurtle towards oblivion.

But I love you.


	7. Heaven

#7 Heaven

#7 Heaven

"You know, you can't go to heaven or hell"

What does that matter? They are mere concepts, and even if they do exist, enough people don't believe in them for my heaven to become the true one.

Why wait for a heaven one cannot be sure exists when there could be one on earth?

I shall be god, and I shall reign in my new heaven.

Though I do have my doubts at times. Because of that damn detective. He talks of how murder is an unjust action, no matter whom it is committed against.

I asked him once about his opinion of the death penalty in terms of the law.

He said that he was working diligently to have the death penalty abolished all together. He said darkly that death is no punishment.

He said death is easy.

Living is hard.

He is insane. How can death be an easy, simple thing? It's the most powerful thing a single person can do, kill or die. And with death as my weapon I will create a heaven for the living.

So I cannot go to heaven or hell. I don't care.

Because I am god, and soon my kingdom shall come to pass and I will rule with benevolence, with justice for the innocent, a safe world for the good-hearted.

Ryuzaki sometimes talks about heaven and hell and human souls.

He sits making castles of sugar cubes, speaking softly about how human nature means that at some point, everyone will be evil. He says that a true god is one who is loving and forgiving of sins.

A true god would not see the world in black and white as I do. He would see it as one large mass of grey.

Because according to Ryuzaki, L, no one soul is pure white or pure black.

Some days I can see his point, especially when he poses questions to me on morality.

'Light-kun, if a man robs someone, say, a single man who lives alone and is fairly well-off, do you think Kira would punish him?"  
'Without a doubt, theft is theft.'

'But what if the theif was very poor, and only stealing so that he could scrape together food for his starving family?'

I hate those questions.

I have to answer with ambiguity, because a lot of the time they make me doubt myself. What if someone kills somebody else in self-defence? What if robbery is to feed someone hungry? What if? What if?

And those times I have to steel myself.

What ifs do not matter. There are always other options besides crime, and with my influence people will take those options.

'Light-kun, how do you think god decides how people get into heaven?'

How can I answer that?

'Light-kun, if god did not want us to have the option of being evil, he would not have given us free will. It is as simple as the story of Adam and Eve. They were given free will and chose the tree of knowledge over innocence. They sinned and were cast out… but that is not to say that we cannot be forgiven our sins.'

I almost understand, Ryuzaki, what you're trying to say. That if Kira was really a god, he would allow redemption.

No.

I am a god, and I will create a heaven, and redemption is not an option, for sin is still sin, no matter what the cause. Adam and Eve knew the risks and sinned anyway.

They took the apple, and paid dearly.

'What kira would create would not be a heaven, but a world of _fear_ and misery. People would walk the streets afraid to do anything for fear of Kira calling it a sin and bringing down his twisted idea of justice upon them'

What would you know about it, Ryuzaki?

You will die by my hand, eventually. I will see you fall from your throne and I will reign in my heaven, and you will watch from whatever netherworld you go to, and you will see with cold certainty that I was right.


	8. Innocence

#8 Innocence

#8 Innocence

I never want to see you sad.

I want you to be happy always, I want to see you smiling and dancing your way through life, the way you should do.

I'd rather you were happy and innocent than miserable and weighted with the truth.

I'd rather you clung to his arm and cooed loving words to him than you cried and held me.

You told me once about the emotion of love. Because I was feigning ignorance as to why Jealous did what he did for you.

You said love is crawling if you couldn't walk.

I'd crawl my way across a desert if I thought it would help you.

Love is singing if you couldn't talk.

Shinigami don't sing. But I would if you asked me to.

Love is asking for help despite embarrassment and fear.

You never hesitate to ask for _him_ to help you. Or me. But more often you go to him first, and only come to me if he brushes you off. And I bet he knows that, and I bet it makes him smirk because he knows it's like torture for me.

Love is wanting someone to be happy, no matter if it's not with you.

That much is so true.I want you to be happy, Misa. I want you to be full of smiles and joy, if Light Yagami can make that happen then I will not say a word against him.

But mark my words, my little blonde love, he will hurt you one day. He will break your soul, and when he does, I will destroy him. I have it all planned.

I have never told you, of course, because it would upset you. Shatter your innocence.

If only there was a way to make you see. See with my eyes which you have borrowed, that Light Yagami is nothing more than scum. See that is someone in the world who loves you desperately, but he is not that someone.

I tell a lie. Sometimes I think that man, L Lawliet, also has some affection for you, perhaps you remind him of someone. And in any case, he cannot possibly love you more than I do.

It hurts, sometimes, seeing you so innocent and knowing that to make you love me back I would have to ruin that.

Is this how god felt looking at his creations?

Loving them endlessly, wishing they could do more, but knowing that for them to know more, they would loose that which he loved in them the most.

If only you could know the things I long to say. It's in my every glance, and my heart is an open book for you. I'm certain that if only Light Yagami was out of your life you would see all the love I have for you at once.

My angel, beautiful, blonde, endlessly happy and full of love. You deserve so much better than the world. So much more than Light Yagami.

But for you to see…

I'll keep silent.

Because Love is wanting someone to be happy.

And I _so_ want you to be happy, Misa.


	9. Drive

#9 Drive

#9 Drive

"Are we there yet?"

Roger sighed to himself and tried to ignore the whiny cry.

"Roooger!! Are we there yet?!"  
He turned in his seat at the front of the mini-bus full of children from Wammy's. On their traditional summer trip to the seaside.

And as was traditional, they were whining and demanding and Matt had been sick out the window because he wouldn't stop playing his game and was now curled up on the back seat whimpering, Linda was whining because someone spilled her orange juice down her, and he was developing a mighty headache.

"No, Mello, we're not there yet!" he snapped and slumped in his seat.

Beside him Wammy chuckled, "Calm down old friend, every year we have these disasters. They're nothing to stress over."

"Ugh, why do we forget to prepare for them year after year?" he returned. "Just once I would like a quiet drive down to the seaside."  
On the seat behind them a voice piped up, "It wouldn't be a proper trip if Matt didn't get sick and Linda didn't get juice down her and Mello didn't whine."

Both of the old men tilted their heads up to see L peering over the back of their seats at them.

"True enough." Wammy agreed, "Why don't you see if you can calm the children down a bit L?"

L shrugged and ducked back down into his seat.

After a moment or two of his voice quietly mumbling to the few other children on the bus, it fell silent, save for poor Matt's intermittent groans.

Roger sighed and leant his head back, intent on getting an hour's sleep before the madness of Wammy's children at the Seaside began.

Doubtless Mello and L would run off somewhere and return with chocolate and hundreds of sticks of rock candy, all the children would need new fillings by the end of the day.

And Matt would sneak off to the arcade and come back several thousand pounds richer and with a mass of soft toys won from the crane machines.

And Linda and Near would set about building a sandcastle and probably end up with a life-size sand-fort that stayed up even when the tide came in and became something of a public landmark until they built the next one.

And doubtless all of them would want to go on the biggest, most vomit-inducing ride in the fairground and all would come off it wobbling and pale green, and Matt would most likely be sick again.

And-

"You _CHEAT!!_"  
Roger sighed at the shriek of anger from somewhere behind them and rolling his eyes in a long-suffering way, leant his head into the aisle of the bus to see what was happening.

The children were all gathered around Near and Mello, who appeared to be playing tic-tac-toe with chalk on the floor.

Mello was thumping the floor with one little pink fist and wailing in annoyance, "L!! L, he cheated! He made me think he was gonna put one there and he-"  
"Mello-kun, no one likes a sore loser." L said calmly. "Near did not cheat, merely used distraction."  
Mello stuck his tongue out, "I demand a rematch!!"

The other children groaned and rolled their eyes, muttering about how Mello could never just admit to loosing and take it like a man.

Wammy chuckled to himself, "Leave them be Roger."  
After a while the noises of arguing died down and Roger began to hope that perhaps all the children were taking a nap, and that he might well be able to join them and sleep off this headache before-

"_I know a song that'll get on your nerves! Get on your nerves! Get on your nerves! I know a song that'll get on your nerves and this is how it goes; I know a song that'll get on your nerves! Get on your nerves! Get on your nerves! I know a song that'll get on your nerves and this is how it goes; I know a song that'll get on your nerves! Get on your nerves! Get on your nerves! I know a song that'll get on your nerves and this is how it goes; I know a song that'll get on your nerves! Get on your nerves! Get on your nerves! I know a song that'll get on your nerves and this is how it goes-"  
_"SHUT IT MELLO!"

"NEVER! _I know a song that'll-_"

There came a yelp from the back of the bus and a sudden, urgent cry of 'Pull over!" and then a horrible retching, wet sound.

The kids nearest the back screamed as one and came racing towards the front, while on the back seat Matt cried quietly to himself at his lurching stomach and Mello roared in fury at the mess covering his clothes.

Roger stood up, "All right, that's enough! We're going to pull over, everyone is going to get off the bus and have five minutes fresh air while we clean this mess up!"

When they got moving again Matt had been placed next to L, with his head on the older boy's lap while his cool fingers stroked his forehead. Mello was grumpily sitting in a spare pair of Near's pyjamas and muttering darkly to himself.

And Roger, exhausted, tried to recall that once they were actually _there_ the children were a joy to see playing in the ocean and on the beach, and in the fair, and they were honestly very well behaved while they were there too.

It was only on the drive that they acted up, and he could understand, ordinary children got bored and disruptive on long journeys, and this bus was full of genius'.

With a deep and long suffering sigh, he leant forward and tapped the driver's shoulder and asked, "Are we there yet?"


	10. Breathe Again

#10 Breathe again

#10 Breathe again

Thud thud thud thud.

Time's slowed down to a dead halt, is this what pure anxiety feels like?

I can hear each individual swipe of the helicopter blades over my head. I can hear every breath of Ryuzaki as he sits next to me.

I can hear my own heart beating, far too fast. Blood pulsing in my ears.

There's Higuchi, standing by his car, half-mad and blinded with terror. There are the others on the task force, all of them staring at Rem as she floats there, impassive.

She's got her eyes on me.

Heh, oh Rem, it really kills you that Misa only has eyes for me, doesn't it? Maybe one day I'll release her, but by then you'll be long gone.

My finger stings where the pin pricked it. Will he smell the blood? He's got very strong senses when it comes to scent. He can smell cake about a mile away.

He's not even turning around, this is too easy.

Try and tap at my laptop, act normally for chrissakes.

Forty seconds?

This feels like hours.

Everything around me is moving like treacle!

Forty seconds, my ass.

Look at the watch. Ten seconds have passed.

Thud thud thud

My heart or the helicopter blades?

This is the longest forty seconds of my life. Come on Higuchi, you mindless oaf, drop dead already.

What kind of an idiot seriously falls for a woman like Misa? I'll admit her plan took guts but for chrissake, any idiot could have thought it up! Even Matsuda could have come up with it!

Just keep holding the note, Light.

Hah. I suppose the upside to this is that I'll soon get to see my shinigami again. It's difficult to believe but I have missed him, hovering behind me demanding apples and providing the audience soundtrack to my schemes.

Come on, come on.

Look at my watch again.

23… 22… this is the longest forty seconds of my life.

Oh L, sitting there, normally for a change, actually looking at the controls of the helicopter in a slightly curious way.

I could have strangled you when you suggested that you didn't actually have a licence to pilot this thing.

Your damn butler's standing behind us, doing something complicated with that rifle he used. Where the hell did that old man learn marksmanship like that?

I think when I create my perfect world; I'll have him be my servant. And I'll use the task force HQ as my temple, just as a smack in the face to you.

Hell, if it was anything like possible I'd keep you alive and chained to me by a collar around your neck. I'd drag you everywhere with me just to show people the great L reduced to a pet on a string.

I'd make you call me god.

15…

I'd pull your chain and make you dance around for me whenever I got bored.

Wouldn't that be sweet revenge for all the humiliation you've put me through?

14…

Higuchi looks such an idiot with his face taped over like that. Couldn't we have used an executioners hood or something more appropriate?

13…

Rem looks angry. She probably knows we left Misa chained up or something. No, she's not psychic. She probably just wants to see Misa.

I wish I could understand what the hell goes through people's minds when they end up in love with Misa. She's irritating and squeaky and needy and whiney. About the only thing she's got going for her is her cuteness and frankly, I prefer women to not look like children.

10…

Soon… soon now.

9…

Ryzaki, Ryuuga, L, I will see you die.

8…

I will see you die and it will be in my arms.

7…

and while you lay there with the light fading from your black eyes

6…

I will smile

5…

I will smile and just for a moment, you will know you were right.

4…

you were right all along, Light Yagami is Kira.

3…

the question is…

2…

not 'who is kira'

1…

But what are you going to do to stop him?

Higuchi screams.  
And I can breathe again.


	11. Memory

#11 Memory

#11 Memory

Remember the first time we met?

I was so shy… it was about a week after the car crash that killed my mum and dad.

I was accepted into Wammy's house: the orphanage for the gifted and talented. And I knew what that meant, that meant that I'd never be adopted, because Wammy's has a policy of _not_ adopting out its children. It meant I was brighter than a lot of people, because Wammy's only takes in orphans that pass an exam that is periodically sent around all the other 'normal' orphanages.

I remember clinging to Mr. Wammy's arm as he led me up the gravel driveway to the big stone steps and huge wooden door.

And then all at once a bundle of t-shirts, shorts and fluffy hair and screams of delight came tumbling out of the house and onto the grassy play-area.

The ball of humanity fell apart and I counted them up.

Four.

Two little boys, not even into double figures yet a blonde and a red-head, and two older boys, both with ebony hair… in fact, probably twins, one in a black shirt and shorts…

And _you._

In white t-shirt and blue shorts, big black eyes and a huge grin on your face. I was always good at remembering details.

I remember you got up, one hand rubbing the back of your head, grass-stains on your bare knees. I remember you said, "Hi Mr. Wammy! Who's this?"

I remember I ducked behind Mr. Wammy because I was still feeling shy, and you leant to one side, peering around him at me.

I remember suddenly your insistent peering and my trying to hide turned into a game of chase around the man who was our gaurdian, while he laughed out, "This is Angel. Angel, the mad little panda chasing you is L."

I remember he finally caught both our skinny arms and made us both stand still and look at one another.

"Now say hello like a nice boy, L."

I remember you tilted your head, and then reached into your pocket and pulled out a lollipop. "Hi Angel."

You offered it to me.

I remember feeling happy for the first time since mum and dad's accident.

"Hello L. Thank you." I replied as I took it.

I remember the big events. I remember being told that you, I and BB were the brightest children in the orphanage. I remember you sat next to me in class even though everyone teased you about having a girlfriend. I remember you telling them that they were right, I was a girl and I was your friend.

I remember every year on halloween the party that was thrown and how then, we obeyed the unspoken rules of childhood and stayed with our own genders at opposite sides of the room.

I remember the night you turned fourteen. I remember how suddenly the hall seemed full of whispers. I remember your voice calling, 'Angel!'

I remember the other girls parted like the red sea as you walked over, in some silly vampire costume, me in a fairy dress that was really too young for me.

I remember you held out your hand and said, "I love this song, come and dance with me!"

I remember I accepted. And we went to the empty middle of the room and danced to 'Thriller' together. And all the songs after that, right until someone (probably Mr.Wammy) put on a slow song.

By that point other people had started dancing too, but when they heard that they fled the floor like they'd been stung.

We didn't. You just pulled me really close and kept dancing.

I remember the smell of strawberries on you. I remember the boys were all wolf-whistling and calling out jokes, I remember the girls were all squealing and gossiping. I remember not caring.

I remember you whispering, "They're all going to be talking about this for weeks."  
"I know." I hissed back.

"Want to give them something to _really_ talk about?"

I nodded against your shoulder, and then you kissed me.

It was awkward, and to be honest you tasted far too sweet, too much trick or treating, I think. But it was amazing too, my first ever kiss.

I remember that after that I hated being apart from you. I think you felt the same, because we were always studying together, sitting in the library with our hair so close it could touch.

I remember B went everywhere with us too. We never minded that. Three was company with us, and B was funny and though he made everyone else nervous, we just thought he was sweet and a bit day dreamy.

I remember the night.

We were both fifteen. I was in your room; we were cramming for a test. You leant over for a kiss, maybe just about to say I should go get some sleep.

That idea just melted away though, and the next real thing I knew we were under your blanket, and everything felt so warm and sticky and wonderful…

That night I knew it was love.

I remember laying with my head on your chest, your hand threading though my hair. You whispering, "…Probably should have worn something…" in an embarrassed way.

I remember giggling and saying not to worry, I was probably safe.

I remember the two weeks later when you decided it was time to leave the orphanage. You told me you'd be back, that this was only to test your skills as a detective.

I remember biting my lip because by then I knew that I was pregnant.

I remember going to my very best friend. Beyond. I remember telling him everything that had happened between us.

I remember his crimson eyes lighting up with anger and his hands leaping to my throat.

I remember thinking of you as I died.

My first kiss, my first lover, my only love, father of my baby who would never see daylight.

And we didn't even know each other's name.

Well here's mine, L.  
Amy-lee Sanders.

Remember me.


	12. Insanity

#12 Insanity #12 Insanity

Madness? Why is it madness?  
To love someone is insanity, surely? What else would you call it when a human being whose sole purpose is to survive suddenly becomes willing to die for someone?

And yet no-one locks anyone up for being in love.

All right, so I _did_ kill some people. But they would have died anyway, I was always very careful about that. Because my eyes are magic, and see names and death days floating so carelessly above people's heads.

So really there hasn't been a crime, has there?

They would have died anyway.

Why won't you come closer to my cell, Liam Lawliet?

Are you afraid of me? It would make sense if you were, it's not nice seeing your reflection so twisted and shattered, is it?

We could be twins, you and I.

I'm going to be better than you soon though. I will, I'm sure. That's always been my plan, to one day surpass you.

Not necessarily to _hurt _you, unless I had to.

I want you to admit I'm better though. B comes before L.

A came before B though…

Heh. But she's not here anymore is she?

Don't glare at me like that, she was going to die that day anyway.

Hehe, can you keep a secret, L? If you can I'll tell you why I killed her.

It wasn't because you loved her, no, I didn't mind that too much. And It made me ill that she was closer to you than me, but I could have dealt with it in my own way. Tortured a puppy or something.

Hehe.

I killed her because she was pregnant. Then I made it look like a suicide, and no-one ever thought to check if she was pregnant.

Oh, don't look so horrified, L. It wasn't very far along, not enough to be a real person.

I couldn't let her ruin your life.

Can you imagine how rotten things would have been for you if she were alive and had the brat?

You'd be a father at fifteen; you'd never have had the time or the drive to become what you are now. How could you be the world's greatest detective if you had to tend to a woman and child at the same time?

Oh, don't glare, please. You'll understand when you have time to think about it.

She wasn't good for you anyway; she was too weak-hearted and not very good at reading people. She wasn't enough like you, so she had to die. Not like me. I've got everything I need to make you happy.

Don't scowl in disgust.

I'm as much like you as I can be, so I'm the one who should take your place. And you can be mine. No-one would be any the wiser.

Mello and Near?  
Those two are your heirs now?  
No. No they're not, you're lying. Lying is naughty L.

You'd never pick them, Mello is too emotional, relies too much on other people to help him. Not like me, I did everything on my own.

And Near's too emotionless, he can't empathise with people and so he can't manipulate them very well. He just lives in his own mind.

Hehehe. So they can't be your sucessors.

I'm the only one you could ever have picked. Just me. Because I am you, really.

Don't say that. Of course I'm mad.

I'm mad because I love you. I always loved you.

Please come closer to my cell. I promise promise promise I won't bite.

That's better. Now hold out your hand… just the little finger sticking out.

Thank you.

See, if we link them like this, our skin's the same colour. Even our bitten nails match.

Make friends, make friends, never-ever break friends?

Thank you.

…?  
I know you won't ever love me back. That's all right.

Can I have some jam?

You'll see what you can do. That's a nice way of saying 'no'.

How about a kiss then? Can I have just a little peck on the cheek? I promise never to tell anyone. Even when I die, I won't tell Angel.

Hehe, you want to hit me now.

No, don't leave… come back here and talk to me some more… tell me off… come on, I don't mind, you can even hit me for real.

Come back…

I love you…

Love is a kind of madness, isn't it?


	13. Misfortune

#13 Misfortune

#13 Misfortune

Those who use the death note are sentenced to a life of misery and misfortune. For the power to kill is not a gift, but a curse.

For Light is was not so obvious, until the end of his life drew near. Until then he had enjoyed his power, creature of evil in a beautiful skin that he was. But as his death day came closer and closer, his dreams turned to nightmares.

Nightmares of what waited for him when he passed.

Of the people he had killed, waiting for him on the other side, waiting to drag him into agony which he knew was waiting. When he died there wouldn't be nothingness, a peace which he didn't deserve, because somehow he knew that the souls he removed would break through and destroy him endlessly.

And his final misfortune took him when he died as he deserved to. In a filthy warehouse, begging and weeping for his pitiful life from the shinigami who had warned him that one day, he would regret picking the note up.

For Misa, the misfortune was obvious. Rem warned her over and over when she gave the young woman the death note, but Misa would not be told.

Her first misfortune was finding Light.

And after that they came thick and fast. She was strong, stronger than most people who use the note were, and survived them all. It was a piece of her own god luck that destroyed her in the end. When Light died, that was her good fortune. But she was so very much in love with a devil. And though love conquers many things, ultimate evil has a way of winning out in the end, and so she took her own life rather than live in a world without Light.

Kiyomi Takada was suffering her misfortunes aplenty before the note came to her; loving Light Yagami is a curse in itself. Being a goddess in your own eyes does not mean you are anything but Kira's whore in others. Beauty doesn't hide an ugly soul, and intelligence cannot excuse the blindness of following a demon into the pits of hell.

Teru Mikami, perhaps the saddest case of all. A _good_ person, a genuinely caring soul, someone who fought for the weaker and tried so very hard to make the world better on his own.

One too many times of seeing the bad guys win changed him. Suddenly death was the only punishment for the awful wickedness that is sadly human nature.

One touch of that black cover and his morals, already warped, snapped.

Eliminate, eliminate, so many people dying at his hands, hands that used to fight for those who needed him, a man who could have yet been a saviour became a demon in his own right.

The final misfortune, the sight of his god defeated. The ending of his life in a cell, his mind raging madly in his head.

A wise human once said that it takes a very foolish person to use a death note.

It's a greater fool who keeps it despite the warnings that this is an item not of this world, not of heaven or hell, just of nothingness.

The shinigami are cursed too, and theirs is stronger. For their misfortune is that they are quite capable of falling in love, but acting upon it will cause their existence to be snuffed out.

For Jealous and Rem, love was their misfortune.

Ryuk's misfortune?

His is still to come. Perhaps he shall be of the lucky few who escape the curse.


	14. Smile

14 Smile 14 Smile

"C'mon… smile for me."

"You've seen my smile before, Light kun."  
"No, I've seen that dopey fake smile you keep for special occasions. I want to see the real one."

"You're a very demanding lover, Light-kun, has anyone ever told you that?"  
Caramel eyes rolling, "I don't think it's that demanding to ask for you to smile. You always look so blank." Pause. "Even your O face looks like you're just doing paperwork or something."

Papery white cheeks flush pink. "I wish you wouldn't watch…"

"Heh. You're so cute, Ryuzaki." Plant a kiss on his forehead. "Come on, let me see you smile."

He seems so _small_ in the bed, because he hunches himself up so. Like a cute little panda plush.  
"I don't just smile on cue, not even for you, Light-kun."  
Devilish smirk crosses the young man's face, "Awwh, and there I was thinking I was special to you."  
Those pinkish cheeks turn crimson as the blush intensifies, "You are, Light-kun, you are, but…"  
"But? Come on Ryu-kun, something's bothering you, I can tell." Tanned hands placed upon cheeks and tilting that pale face with eyes like holes of nothingness to look up at tan and caramel.

Those gorgeous black eyes slide closed. "I haven't smiled for anyone in years, Light-kun."

"Why?"  
"…I can't say."  
A soft, sad frown, "Come on, if it's something to do with your name or past then just use false names, if you really don't trust me."  
Panda head shaking sadly, "No… no, it's not that. It's just that it will upset you and make you angry with me."  
Beautiful chestnut eyes lowering slightly, then warm tan arms curling around the hunched little panda, "I promise I won't get mad. Tell me."  
Sigh, knowing there is no winning such an argument.

"The last person I truly loved… was a girl. She was wonderful, Light-kun. She had the finest mind I have ever known in a woman, she even rivalled me in some things… that's probably what was so fascinating about her. Heh… she didn't like sweets, like you."  
"What did she look like?"  
"…Gorgeous. Long red hair all down her back… she wore it in a plait. Neat round glasses, big green eyes."  
"And…?"  
"And I loved her. I loved her so much it hurt. I was only a kid, really, but… the amount of time it took me just to be brave enough to kiss her, it had to be love. We spent every moment of every day together, shared those little secrets that one only has when it's the first love… We were together and we were going to have a future."

A slight glint of realisation appears in the caramel eyes, "…She died?"  
"She was murdered." The sudden sting of bitterness in his voice that Light has never heard before. "By someone who was jealous of her. She was killed and though everyone else said it was suicide I know better. She would never have done that, never."

The brunette nodded slowly. "I believe you."  
The dark-haired man sighs and lowers his head. "And that is why I can't smile for Light-kun. I only smile at people I love and I made myself promise not to love anyone again after her. And it hurts my stomach because I really think I could love Light-kun forever, but I promised."

Blurted out all at once, like throwing up sadness.

Sudden rush of sympathy runs through Light's soul. And that's dangerous, he knows, because eventually he will have to kill L.

But it'll be that much harder because of this.

He's too young to have had such a sad life. Light knows there's yet more tragedy in his past, buried away behind empty eyes.

"…L…"

Tightly hugs him and mumbles vague reassuring noises.

Behind the couple on the bed, the Shinigami laughs.

OXOXOXOXOXOXO

"You're really getting rid of it?"  
"I have to, Ryuk. To be Kira I would have to kill him, and damn it if I haven't fallen in love."  
The shinigami smirks, "So ya can't bear to kill him now?"  
The boy who was Kira nods. "Just take it and find someone else to give it to, we'll hunt them down together." He glances across at the deeply sleeping detective. "And somehow I'm going to make him better."

XOXOXOXOXOXO

They caught Kira together. They agreed to travel together and solve all their cases together from then on.

They visited Angel's grave.  
L told her that he was in love again, and though he'd never find another woman as good as her, he hoped she wouldn't mind him and Light giving it a go. He asked her forgiveness.  
Light told her that he loved L. Loved him more than he loved anything in the world, and if she would allow it, he wanted to spend his life trying to make the panda-man as happy as he was with her.

When they walked away hand in hand, L smiled.


	15. Silence

#15 Silence

#15 Silence

It's so quiet… maybe I should go back to bed. My bare feet are cold on the wooden floor, and I'm scared of the dark corridors.

No, no, because if I go back to my room that'll be admitting defeat at the hands of fear.

It's not much further now anyway.

There, his bedrooms door. It'll be locked, but I know how to pick it open easily.

I've got my soft toy with me, Panda-chan.

It was the first one L ever gave to me, and I can't sleep without it.

His room is so big, compared to the little dormitory rooms the children sleep in. A sort of lounge and bedroom all in one… he's even got a four poster bed, lucky devil.

The curtains are drawn around it, of course. Watari told me he doesn't tend to sleep when he's working a case but when he takes a well-earned break and comes home to Wammy's he's nearly impossible to rouse.

I pad over to the side of the bed and open the curtain a little way.

What luck, he's sitting reading a book, I'm not sure I could have woken him.

"Hello Near-chan." He says pleasantly. "It's past your bedtime."  
I shake my head. "Nightmare."  
How is it that whenever I am around him I suddenly feel myself reduced to a mere baby?

Ah yes, because in his eyes I will always be that tiny white-haired infant who would not eat a bite of his meal unless he was next to L.

"I see." He says calmly, closing his book and moving over without a word. "Come on."  
I feel a little smile creep across my face and I climb into the bed beside him, yawning sleepily and pressing my face to his chest as he lays down too.

Just as I am starting to drift, I hear the door slide open. Worried, I press my face to him. He pats my back reassuringly.

After a moment the curtain is pulled open again and we are confronted with the sight of Mello, face tear-stained and looking sleep deprived. His normally exquisite hair is a mess of tangles and soft pastel blue pyjamas have replaced his black day clothes.

L smiled gently. "Nightmare?"  
Mello nods, just once.

L lifts the sheets a little, "Come on."

Mello practically dives into the bed and curls up in a foetal position by our role model.

He doesn't even seem to mind that I'm here too, for once. I whine and reach across L to place my small white hand on his bright pink face.

He opens his navy blue eyes, but for once, doesn't glare, just stares and blinks at me, wondering why I am showing him kindness, perhaps?

L has an arm around either of us.

His eyes are drooping; he must be so very tired. Perhaps this was a bad idea, he can hardly be comfortable surrounded by children while he's trying to sleep.

There's a tap on the door.

L sighs, and says softly, "Come in Matt."

How did he know?  
Stupid, who else would come here in the middle of the night?

Poor Matt looks scared out of his skin, he suffers from insomnia a lot. I haven't been able to ascertain why but I suspect whatever happened to him before the orphanage is responsible for that.

his nightwear is black shorts and a striped vest that I know for a fact is one of his old shirts with the sleeves so worn out that he cut them off all together.

I almost laugh when I see he's still wearing his goggles.

"Mello was gone from our room…" he mumbles sadly.

L nods, "I know. You don't like being alone." He grasps me around the middle and calmly lifts my tiny shape to rest wholly on his chest. He offers the vacated bed space to Matt.

The red-head nods and climbs in, face burying itself in a pillow.

And then we are silent.

This is the best place in the world… no where in the entire world can ever, ever compare to sleeping in L's bed with him. Feeling so protected and warm and _happy_.

And I like that Matt and Mello are here.

Because despite appearances, I adore both of them too.

What an odd bunch we are. The greatest detective in the world, possibly the cleverest man alive, a blonde orphan who was left on the steps of a nunnery as a baby, a red haired boy whose abusive parents broke his arm, an albino child whose mother and father were killed in a crash before he was old enough to know them.

We're weird. I know that.

But somehow fate has flung us together, and I don't think it's an accident. Because between us we have cobbled together the only thing a child really needs, family.

I'm the baby, I know. They all feel they have to look after me, even Mello, sometimes.

Matt's the fun big brother, who makes sure none of us take life too seriously. He forces us to enjoy ourselves sometimes. He hates being alone.

Mello's the serious older brother, he makes sure I always give everything I have, because I know that if I let my standards slip even a little bit then he'd beat me. The sad fact is that I know he's better than I am for now, one day I might surpass him, but for now, I have to work my hardest to keep up.  
And L…

He's somewhere between big brother and father. Too old for one and too young for the other, either way, he's the thing that makes us all feel safe and protected.

So long as we have L to look after us, we have nothing to fear, because he'd never let anyone hurt us.

I let out a little sigh and close my eyes.

And there is silence.

Because none of us needs to say a word.


	16. Questioning

#16 Questioning

Was he really right?

Staring down at a city that has rotted through to the core, it's so easy to start questioning everything.

Does everyone feel like this when they know they're going to die?

Did poor Ryuzaki wonder what he could have done differently when Rem wrote his name?

Did that Mello boy wish he had changed things when he felt his heart stop?

What about Takada? Mikami? Light himself?

…I'll be with them soon. I can ask them all then.

If I can just bear to let go.

Would things have been better if I had never found his name?

What if I had done as the police asked?

What if I had died when I was supposed to?

What kind of a life could I have if I climbed back over the railings and went home now?

A coward's life. And it would be short.

What if I hadn't made the trade so many times?

…Was Light _right?_

Or was L the one who had it right?

Is death merely a fitting punishment for those who have disobeyed the world of a god of justice?

Or is it the easy way out, an end to suffering, not a punishment at all?

Was Kira a wonderful, shining god of justice who will forever be worshipped for what deeds he managed to do?

Or was he just the most prolific mass-murderer in history?

Was Light a man, or a monster?

What is death like?

Rem told me once that users of the death note don't go to heaven or hell.

So what will my afterlife be like?

I can work out what happened to everyone else.

L and Watari both went to heaven, they never used the note and they were both very _good_, even if they did oppose Kira.

Mello and his red-haired friend… I'm willing to bet their good deeds outweighed the bad.

Takada, Mikami, Light…

No-where.

Somehow that's worse than Hell.

…I don't want to live in a world without Light.

But I'm scared to let go and fall.

Will I faint before I hit the ground?

Or will I be conscious when I hit?

Will it hurt?

Or will there be so much pain that I'm numbed?

Will it be instant?

Or will it ache and drag on for hours of agony?

I'm so scared…

But I'm even more frightened of living in a world where Kira is no more.

What if he's waiting for me?

What if he's going to torture me?

I could stand here letting the wind bluster around me forever, and turn to stone like the little mermaid. Pining away for the man she loved who didn't love her back.

Or I could let go.

…I'm so confused.

Was there anything I could have done to change the way things turned out?

Anything at all?

A tear falls from my face and I watch it fall.

I don't want to fall. I want to fly.

That's right. Don't think of it as falling, think of flying.

And all I have to do…

Is let go….

And fly away.

Mu…

Nothingness…

"Misa… is it really you?"

Opening eyes to see onyx eyes staring back at me.

Pull back a little and see faces, some familiar, others I barely know.

Everyone from our story who died.

And one face so blissfully familiar, and it's smiling. He's _happy_ to see me for once.

"Hello Misa. It's good to see you again."

Racing through the other people, throwing my arms around his neck and weeping.

A second set of arms, around me from behind.

A chuckle I so seldom heard from my god. "We missed you."

"I have both my friends now."

And we three are together and friends again. Me and my two boys, because in death, everything is equal, what use is there to grudges and grievances? Chalk it all up to experience.

I have so very many questions to ask. I expect they both have hundreds of answers.

But questioning can wait.

For now, I have no need to question anything.


	17. Blood

#17 Blood

Red is my favourite colour and flavour.

Not green, too sour. Red is sweet and soft and has all sorts of delicious connotations.

A tongue slips out first and just laps at the exterior, making it shine and quiver slightly under the lights.

Mm… a frail, thin skin, guarding against the unwelcome intruder… thick, sharp fangs penetrating the defences and pulling away a chunk of the flesh, the raw juices bleeding down the throat, mouth, skin…

So pale and virginal inside, a taste of heaven…

No wonder this was the forbidden fruit, it must be a sin to enjoy something so much.

My deep, red heart, we're never given enough time together, too many people get in the way of our happiness, and when they don't, I am so often forced to be apart from you… forced to seek solace in that which can't begin to hold a candle to you…

But you don't mind that, do you?

Because I always come back wanting more of you, wanting to taste your sweet skin and flesh and see the gorgeous redness of you, drink your blood down and love every second of being with you.

And oh god, the smell of you, the feel of you in my hands… so soft and round and _perfect_ that I…

"Ryuk?"

I sigh and look up, "Hello Light?"

"Will you please stop fantasising over that apple?"

I feel my cheeks flush the same colour as my beloved's skin, "I don't-"

"Don't lie to me, Ryuk. I can tell what you're thinking, you're even blushing for gods sake."

Deep sigh. He wouldn't understand, would he precious?

"You're just jealous." I mutter.

He snorts and goes back to his silly computer.

Let me drink of your blood again, before our time is over.


	18. Rainbow

#18 Rainbow

Misa Amane hated the rain. Water is the enemy of glamour and beauty, so her stylist always said, and in any case, who could enjoy standing out in the cold and wind getting slowly wetter and sicker?

So that was why she was not in the best of moods the day she saw him.

She'd only seen him outside the headquarters once before, and for a moment she didn't recognise the haunted-looking man who was sat on a park bench in the roaring rainstorm.

But then she knew it had to be him, who else sat like that?

She winced at the thought of heading over to him, even if she did have her huge umbrella above her. It looked like he'd chosen the wettest spot to sit.

Still, Ryuzaki was her friend, she reasoned, and she ought to go and see why he was sitting there in the rain looking so… far away.

She scurried over, leaping over the puddles that littered the pavement, until she stood next to the wooden bench where he was staring up at the clouds.

"Ryuzaki-san? You will get very sick sitting out here." She squeaked.

He appeared to notice her for the first time, "Hm? Hello Misa-san. Why are you outside in this weather?"

She blinked, had he just ignored her question altogether?

"Misa-Misa was at a shoot, and then she decided to walk home… before this storm hit. Now Misa wishes she had taken a taxi." She pulled a face.

"Misa does not like the rain?" L asked, obsidian eyes blinking curiously at her.

Sometimes he reminded her of a child. Ridiculous in a man his age, but he honestly seemed to possess that kind of innocent curiosity.

"Ryuzaki _likes_ the rain?" she countered. "It's all wet and cold and icky!"

L shrugged his painfully thin shoulders, plain cotton shirt soaked so far through that he may as well have been bare-chested. His messy hair hung in a black mop around his head, his jeans looked like they were clinging heavily and uncomfortably.

"I find the rain is soothing." He explained. "It washes everything at once, buildings, people, earth… it doesn't pick and choose. And… it is life-giving. Without it nothing in the world would exist." He sighed and closed his eyes, "It is pleasantly cooling, even if it does cause sickness at times." He looked up at Misa once more, "Have you any real reasons to hate the rain?"

Misa blushed faintly. She didn't like it when he probed like that. She shuffled under her umbrella. "It was raining the night Misa-misa's parents were murdered."

L tilted his head, gnawing his thumb, "…I see." He sighed. "It was raining the night someone killed my mother and father too."

Misa's mouth dropped open a bit, "I… you, too?"

She'd never thought of _him_ having a family. And certainly not of having anything in common with him.

"I choose not to associate the rain with their death." He commented. "Mama and Papa would have been killed that night no matter what the weather. The rain…" he lowered his head, "the rain was soothing. Has Misa never listened to the rain?"

Misa blinked. "Listened?" she tilted her head to try and hear. All she could hear was raindrops on her umbrella.

She was concentrating so hard on this noise that she didn't notice him moving and yanking her umbrella from her hand.

All at once she was soaked through to her skin. And she could hear it.

The strange, sad, alive music of the rain hitting everything in the city, in the _world_, a thousand whispering voices all at once, like a drum, like a base note, like…

"The heartbeat of the world." L whispered.

Misa nodded, "That's… exactly…"

The rain slowed as they stood across from one another, drenched. Slowed… and the sun broke through a cloud.

L looked up and smiled. "Another thing about the rain…" he pointed into the sky.

Misa smiled, "A rainbow!"

L nodded, "There is always something good that follows."


	19. Grey

#19 Grey

(thanks go to my sister, who suggested the names Peach and Link)

"You ought to wear more colours, you know."

Don't look up from the puzzle, this is clearly a case of Mello trying to tease me.

"All that white and your hair as well… you look like the result of L shagging a sheep."  
I look up, face flushing pink, "Mello!"

He laughs, taking a bite of chocolate. "Aww, I forgot, you don't like it when I mock _him_ do ya?"

I flush darker and turn back to the puzzle. One arm clutches my Panda cuddly toy. It's true, I hate it when L is insulted, though Mello doesn't tend to insult him, he's our mentor, our goal, our _everything_.

But the main thing I don't like is the suggestion that I might be related to him, just because we both happen to have dark eyes.

I especially don't like the insinuation that I am only in this prestigious place because L once had a little brother who had albinism, and I was brought to the orphanage because I reminded him of that brother.

I am here because I am intelligent. I am here because my mother and father perished in a plane crash. I am here because no ordinary school could give me the lessons I need to challenge myself.

Mello still teases though, because he knows I doubt myself occasionally. I have yet to develop his level of confidence, the confidence that allows him to sashay around the orphanage as though he owns it and everyone in it ought to be grateful to even be allowed to look upon him.

It doesn't help that he is insanely attractive.

Everyone in the orphanage thinks so, I'm sure of it. All the girls and the boys harbour secret fantasies about Mello and his angelic blonde locks and ice-blue eyes.

Myself included, I suppose.

What wouldn't anyone here give to be Matt?

I'm so jealous of him, even if he does carry a lot of bruises and cuts from times when he's displeased Mello. He still gets to be the one who follows Mihael Kheel, the unholy Adonis.

Not that I wish to harm Matt, or break them apart. If Matt were mean then I would, but he's a nice person. One of those people who were born to make everyone smile, not exactly popular but I doubt he has any enemies.

No-one could hate Matt if they tried.

I just wish, wish, that he'd share. I don't mind sharing Mello, sharing the bruises and cuts.

I wonder what all that leather feels like?

"Why do you only wear black?"

He falters, surprised at my question. Now he's thinking about it, trying to see if it's a test. Oh Mello, can't I ever just be asking for the sake of it with you?

"I like black." He finally answers.

I nod, "I like white. End of discussion."

Across the room Matt sniggers to himself, eyes fixed on the game in front of him. "Christ, I hope you two never get together, you'd have some seriously traumatised kids."

The look on Mello's face is priceless.

Then he explodes, marching over and battering the poor gamer with his chocolate bar.

Our children? Hah, Matt is right, they would be full of emotional problems.

…and we'd doubtless argue over names constantly. And once those were settled, how to dress the poor little mites.

I suppose the only option for myself and Mello will always be compromise.

L said that once. If agreement is utterly impossible, the next best is always compromise.

"We could call the children Grey and Silver." I say absently, twiddling my hair.

There's that look again, the priceless look of horror and fury.

I smile faintly. "I'm joking, Mello. I know any child of yours would be Matt's too." I giggle. "They'll be called Peach and Link."

That night, I dream that Mello comes to see me.

And he's wearing grey.


	20. Fortitude

#20 Fortitude

Today is the day we're gonna die. We knew that when we made the choice to do it.

There goes the smoke bomb. Time to start.

XOXOXOXOX

"…In lord jesus' name, amen."

Matt watched in silence as Mello prayed quietly to the tiny silver figure on his crucifix. It was weird to see Mello kneeling by his bed like that again.

The last time he saw Mello pray was at Wammy's, every night before bed he would say the old standard, 'Should I die before I wake'.

Tonight he'd confessed all his sins to the tiny silver cross, fingers rolling the beads as each one fell from his mouth.

The red haired gamer sighed, "Mells, can I talk to ya?"  
Mello pushed himself to his feet, "Not if you're gonna give me a hard time about what I confessed about." He looked to one side, the scars doing nothing to detract from his beauty. "Just in case the whole 'shagging a guy' thing really is a sin, I wanna edge my bets."  
Matt smirked, "C'mon, you an' me both know it's not a sin to love."

XOXOXOXO

There goes Mello, on my motorbike. With that bitch clinging to his thin hips. God, I hope that this works.

Off I go, swerving and spinning down side streets. I'm just delaying the inevitable, I know, but that's all I'm supposed to do.

I'm just following orders, that's all.

It's just like a videogame, Matt, just chill out, if you get freaked out you're going to make a silly mistake.

Jesus, I know I'm a sinner and all that, but forgive me, and protect Mello for me.

XOXOXOXO

"I'm scared, Mello."

The blonde hesitated before replying, "Don't be stupid. Nothing to be scared of, it's only death."

The younger man sighs and leans back on the couch, pulling his goggles over his eyes, a sure sign of being upset. "Yeah. That's how it works, right? You're born, and then you die."  
Mello smiled, slightly tenderly, and reached over to mess Matt's red hair. "Yeah, and the fun bit in the middle is called life."

Matt blinked behind shields of yellow plastic, staring up at Mello's gorgeous features. "Go to hell, Mello."

"Only if you come with me." Mello replied, as he always did, then yanked those goggles down and around his gamer's neck, a contrast to his own rosary.

His eyes were slightly red.

"Have you been crying?" Mello questioned.

Matt turned his face away. "No."

OXOXOXO

They're catching up… crap, they're going to block me off at this next intersection.

Okay, deep breath, there's a chance you can still delay this, buy Mello an hour or two more. That's the important part.

Jesus, I'm scared.

I'm so damn scared… but I'm trapped now.  
Chill out.

You knew this would be how it ended.  
Tonight, Mello, love, we're going down in flames.

Light a cig and place it in my mouth. I'm gonna need it if this is really how it ends.

XOXOXOXO

"…I'm sorry this is how it's going to be." Mello mumbled.

Matt shook his head, goggles thudding on his chest "Don't be, man, I always knew you were going to get me killed one day." He reached up and touched those poor, beautiful scars, "It's kinda sappy, but I don't mind dying if its for you." He sighed. "I never minded anything that happened to me, so long as it was for you."

Mello smirked, somewhere between cruel and kind. "You're so gay."

"Only for you."

"You're an idiot."  
"If that's what you want." Matt blew a smoke ring into the air and stubbed out his cig on the broken leather of the couch. "I love you Mello, I want ya to know that, before we die. I always loved you."

He grabbed his rosaries and pulled him down into a kiss.

XOXOXOXO

Be brave now, Matt. Don't want to disappoint Mello.

Step out of the car, smiling, hands up.

I want to die with a smile on my face.

XOXOXOXO

That night was different. Kisses and touches felt like more. They'd had sex before, but that was the first night they actually made love.

Afterwards, Mello snuggled up to Matt.

"I'm scared too." He muttered. "But damn if they're going to know that." He glared up into Matt's emerald eyes, "When we die, we die like men, okay? No tears, no begging. We're going to die on our feet, not live on our knees."

Matt smirked, "Said the guy who spent an hour praying."

"Just agree with me, idiot. We die on our feet."  
Matt nodded, planting a kiss on the blonde's head, "We die on our feet."

XOXOXOXO

The first bullet hits. And the next, and the next. It's a constant stream of pain.

I made a promise. No tears, no begging. I'm not even flinching. I die here and now, on my feet.

I'm falling back… but I'll be gone before I hit the ground.

On my feet.


	21. Vacation

#21 Vacation

#21 Vacation

"Why is Amane-san wearing nothing but her underwear?"

"IT'S A BIKINI! Pervert!" Came the thunderous roar of the angered Misa.

Light, in his seat beside his girlfriend as the car roared along the road towards the beach, wondered why on earth he'd agreed to this in the first place.

All right, the idea of spending a day sunning himself and relaxing was very appealing after the months of working on the case with no breakthroughs, but the problem was that he doubted very much there would be any relaxing, given that Misa had insisted on coming, and Ryuzaki was still trying to keep them under surveillance.

"Do you two have to keep arguing?" He asked with a sigh.

Ryuzaki bit his thumbnail, blinking his big black eyes in the manner of a puzzled faun. "I was not arguing, Light-kun, I was just asking why Misa is wearing so little-"  
"You're such a pervert!" Misa shrieked, "Why are you even looking at what I'm wearing!? Light-kun is the only one who should be looking!"

Ryuzaki shrugged, "I fail to see the logic in Misa-san wearing next to nothing and then getting annoyed when men other than Light-kun notice."

Misa clenched her fists; "Ryuzaki isn't a _man_! He's a _Worm!"_

Light smirked a little; on the other hand, these two were very useful as entertainment.

The trip there was punctuated with further arguments between the people sat either side of Light, who was doing his very best to see this as free amusement rather than mind-numbingly irritating.

Still, he reasoned, once they were there things would get better. He could sunbathe in peace, while Ryuzaki doubtless stuffed himself with ice-cream and Misa played around in the water being silly, as usual.

He stretched as the car stopped beside the sand and sea and climbed out, dragging the detective with him. "Just smell that _air_."

"Didn't Misa-misa tell Light-kun he would like this?" The blonde squealed excitedly. "Now Light-kun can go get changed, there's some stalls over there…" she trailed off when she realised with sudden horror that both Light and Ryuzaki, in tandem, had started stripping off right there.

She gave a squeal of horror and covered her eyes.

There came a sigh from the boys and Light grumbled, "Misa, we're wearing our swimming trunks under our clothes…You can look, honestly."  
When she didn't move, Ryuzaki smirked wickedly, "Perhaps Misa does not wish to see her boyfriend half-naked."

Misa's eyes flew open, face tinted pale pink, "Ryuzaki is a total perver-" She stopped speaking.

Light was so handsome, so slim and tanned, and his shorts were so _cute_ on him, and his legs-

"Misa is staring at Light-kun like he is a cake." Ryuzaki muttered from the space beside the teenager. "Perhaps Misa is the pervert."

Misa turned to snarl out some insult or another, and found herself again, at a loss for words.

Because L was unbelievably toned, in fact, his muscles were more defined than Light's. And while he was much skinnier, it appeared that every inch of him was muscle and sinew. His skin was very pale, like a porcelain figure, tinted faintly with pale pink on his nipples, and there was a very fine line of faint black hair leading down to…

"Misa is staring at my crotch."

Light burst out laughing and Misa squealed and started incoherently denying having looked at all.

It took an hour's reassuring from her boyfriend, but she calmed eventually, and the strange-looking trio ended up sitting on a blanket on the beach, Ryuzaki lapping at an ice-cream while Misa cuddled Light's arm and the poor student himself sat between them trying to read.

He let out a deep groan, finding it impossible to read with Misa's face constantly snuggling into his arm, "Misa, why don't you sit with Ryuzaki a while?"  
She stuck out her tongue, "Because he'll just be perverted and stare at me!"  
"Misa stared at me too."

Light muttered a curse under his breath. "You two make me insane." He snapped, "I thought you both loved me?"

The detective and actress both blushed and lowered their heads simultaneously, as they always did when Light brought up the subject.

Of course they both loved him. And between the three of them they had agreed to share, but somehow Light always ended up between them, because he was the one they both adored. They couldn't care less about one another.

"If you both love me as much as you claim to, why don't you let me have some peace and quiet, huh?" Light reasoned, a scheming smirk coming to his face, "It makes me sad that my boyfriend and girlfriend can't get along even a _little_ bit." He leant back and closed his eyes, as though he were about to nod off under the sun, "In fact, what would really make me happy was if you two actually enjoyed one another a little more."

He heard the sound of sand being kicked and movement, and opened one eye slightly, smirking.

Just as planned, Misa had leapt over him and onto Ryuzaki, and the detective, in a bid to please him, was crushing the girl's lips to his own, ice-cream forgotten.

And after a moment or two, they drew apart, staring at one another.

"…Would Light-kun mind if we went for a walk?" Ryuzaki asked suddenly.

Misa nodded, "We won't go far… we promise Light-kun!"

Light pretended to sigh and roll his eyes, "Well I _suppose_ I don't mind, go enjoy yourselves now." He waved one hand vaguely and watched the two run off together, doubtless to find a more private spot.

He picked his book back up from where he'd dropped it on the sand and grinned.

This could end up being a very good vacation.


	22. Mother Nature

#22 Mother Nature

#22 Mother Nature

Spring is a beautiful time at Wammy's house. The time of things being born again, and the mass tidying of bedrooms, dust being thrown from every window so that the place appears to be surrounded by a faint fog.

And the Easter celebration is always fun to see, with all the children dressing in their best clothes and marching to the local church in neat procession, some of them in their choir robes.

Mello was one of them, the star choir boy until his voice broke during his solo piece.

The children all receive a chocolate egg too, and at some point during the happy months of new life, Roger arranges for a picnic, and all the children who are still young take teddy bears along, having a teddy bear picnic. The older ones spend the day running and chasing each other up and down the hillsides, playing with the lambs they find in nearby fields.

And then comes summer, and the long holidays, when even the genius' of Wammy's house take a well-earned rest and lounge around. They go on the annual trip to Blackpool, and for a week the children cause chaos there, enjoying themselves, as children should.

And once that trip is done the summer slowly passes with endless days spent trekking to the lake at the bottom of the vast gardens around the orphanage, and taking turns swinging from the tire swing into the water, getting tired and wet and messy and unbelievably happy.

Of course, there's also Near's birthday, towards the end of the summer. Everyone makes him a card, and the children who are closest to him get him little presents.

Mello used to indulge in this little ritual too, until it dawned on him that Near was a rival.

Near always receives a present from L. Even if he's overseas, he sends something. Near's favourite has always been the cuddly panda toy from his infancy.

And slowly the green and gold of summer gives way to red and brown of autumn, not crisp and cold as in American soaps, more cold and slippery and horribly wet.

The children still find some amusement. They run across the playground trying to catch falling leafs, the myth being that catching one entitles a person to a wish.

Matt, with his excellent hand-eye co-ordination, developed from years of games, catches hundreds. He gives them all to Mello, despite the blonde snapping at him that it doesn't count if someone else caught the damn leaf.

Matt only ever keeps one for himself, if possible, one as red as his own hair. He always catches one of those in his gloved hands and whispers to the dead foliage a single wish.

Always the same wish, because he secretly believes it will come true.

He wants for Mello to love him.

Of course, the big event is Halloween. Not just because of the party that is thrown, which is, as tradition demands, more an embarrassment than party.

Mello complains that it's just the lunch hall with the lights covered in coloured paper to make it look a bit dimmer. And the music is always rubbish and in any case, it ends up the same way, with the boys on one side of the hall, sliding around on their knees and playing tag, and the girls on the other side gossiping.

The three heirs always make an effort to send their mentor a birthday present. Just so he knows they didn't forget him.

Then slowly the rain and cold take over and winter finally comes, and though there's barely ever snow, and it almost always turns to slush in an hour, the children love it while it's there, building snowmen and having fights with what they can scrape together.

There's the Christmas pageant, in which Mello has been the angel Gabriel for as long as anyone can remember, despite the fact that on one occasion he kicked 'Mary' off the stage, claiming she was humming during his best speech.

Matt is usually a wise man, only joining in because Mello always does.

Near is a sheep, always. He doesn't seem to mind the teasing.

And the time goes on and Mello's birthday comes and goes. He never notices how hurt Matt looks when he tosses the gamer's present aside in favour of the one from L.

Weeks pass, many advent calendars are opened and holiday specials are watched, and decorations put up, until finally, finally, the eve is upon them.

And L _always_ comes home for Christmas. _Always_. No matter what the case, L is always at home for Christmas.

That's why they leave the star off the tree, putting it up has always been his job, like so many other little things. He has to be the one who puts the mince pie and milk out for Santa, and he has to be the one who reads 'The night before Christmas' to those who want to listen.

Mello, Matt and Near always do. Even if they are getting too old for stories like that.

The next day the children all awake to stockings at the foot of their beds, filled with little toys and puzzles, and the staff make a special effort to ensure the children all get at least one big present under the tree.

The dinner is especially magnificent, and the one time of the year when L consents to eat something other than sweets, always excusing it with arguments that he couldn't _possibly_ miss out on a Wammy's Christmas dinner.

The new year comes, L tries to be there to see it out with the only family he has. The children are allowed to try and stay up, but many doze off long before the count down.

Mello, Matt and Near always make it through to midnight.

Matt's birthday is the last event of the winter. Mello teases him for not having the decency to be born on the first day of the new year. Tells him he's always lagging a bit behind.

Matt doesn't mind, he likes that he is the centre of attention.

Nature continues to turn the wheel of the seasons, though slowly, one by one, the boys disappear.  
Without L, there can't be anymore Christmas.

Without Matt they can't play the leaf game.

Without Mello Easter can't go on.

Without Near summer is over too soon.


	23. Cat

#23 Cat

_Just a quick one today because I've got a cold.  
Hi to Phollie, my sweet little reviewer! :)_

In the cramped apartment, surrounded by laptops, Matt's fingers flew over the buttons of his latest hand-held game. Intermittent beeping noises filled other otherwise silent room as he sat there on the floor, back against the cracked leather of the couch.

The door opened and slammed again, and in stalked Mello, throwing his jacket off and kicking his heavy leather boots across the room, ignoring the thuds when they hit the wall.

With a heavy sigh he slunk over to Matt and in one move dropped first to his knees, then fell forward, his upper body in the gamer's lap, glaring up at the goggled eyes.

Matt blinked, his game knocked from his hands.

"I was about to finish that level."

The blonde shrugged, "Sucks to be you then." He shivered, "It's freezing outside, there's no heat in this place, and I went out specifically to get you more cigs, so you can warm me up."

Matt smirked, "You liar, you went out for chocolate."

Mello pulled a new bar from under that tight vest, apparently he liked to keep a bar against his body at all times if possible. "60 percent Chocolate, 40 percent cigs?"

"More like 99-1." Matt replied, one hand going to the mass of blonde strands and starting to rub the chocolate addict's head through it. The other rested on the older man's stomach, stroking up and down that exposed flesh.

"You wouldn't get so cold if you wore proper clothes." Matt muttered.

Mello wriggled happily, almost purring at the feel of warm hands on his chilled flesh. "Yeah, I wouldn't get as much action either."

Matt laughed, the hand on his head going to scratch behind one ear, "That's not true and you know it. You're sexy no matter what you wear."

"Too bloody right I am." Mello replied smugly.

Matt grinned. "You're making that face again."

"Which one?"

"The one that makes you look like a kitten. I swear I think you're gonna start playing with some wool or something."

Mello frowned a little, his navy eyes darkening slightly. "I do not look like a kitten."

"You so do." Matt answered, then leant down and pressed a kiss to the bare stomach.

Mello squeaked and wriggled, he'd always been ticklish there.

"See? You even like being licked clean." Matt growled out, emerald eyes flashing behind the sheets of yellow plastic.

Mello wriggled harder as the gamer's tongue started lapping across the sensitive flesh. "Stop it!! Goddammit Matt that tickles!"

Matt smirked, but did as he was told, going back to simply petting his little blonde kitten.

Mello swallowed, a blush rising on his cheeks. "…If I'm a cat, Matty, that predatory look you get means you're a dog."

Matt laughed, taking a cig out from behind one ear and lighting up, "No way am I a dog. Dogs are dumbasses."

Mello rolled his eyes, and moved so that he now sat upright in the red-head's lap, hand sliding up the striped shirt. "Ok, so what are you then? You're some kind of mean-ass carnivore that likes torturing things." He pouted prettily, "You certainly like torturing me, and you're bigger than me too."

Matt shook his head, "Mells, drop the uke act, it doesn't fool anyone. And if you have to know, I like to think of myself as a tiger." He grinned and let out a playful growl, "Hence the stripes."

Mello smirked back. "Tiger, huh?" he leant in and nuzzled the red-haired gamer's cheek, "Why don't you prove you deserve that sexy nickname, hmm?"

Matt shivered slightly at the feel of Mello's warm breath against his ear, "Anything for my little chocolate kitten…"


	24. No Time

#24 No Time

You never had time for us.

Okay, so it sounds so cliché and whiney, but it's true.

When we were growing up, you never had the time to come and spend with us. I know, I know, you had an important job, but you never took any time off, even though I know you could have.

I can remember three of my birthdays where you didn't show up. And five of Sayu's.

Can you even imagine how much that hurts? Knowing your own father doesn't think you're important enough to take time off work?

For a long time it felt like we were a broken home, like mom was our only parent.

Poor, poor mom.

Do you know how many nights I came downstairs for a glass of water and found her worriedly sitting up waiting for you?

And she'd always smile and say she didn't mind. Say she knew this was how it would be the day she married a cop.

I know, I know I sound like such a whiney brat, but would it have killed you to call home? Take just one day off?

Sometimes I wonder how mom and Sayu kept adoring you. I suppose we were all good at acting, passive-aggressive bunch that we are. I know I pretended that I had nothing but respect for you, I pretended I wanted nothing more than to be like you.

In reality I loathed you for leaving us all waiting, worried.

I tried to get your attention. I came top in every single class, I worked so hard and so late that I got headaches.

You barely ever showed any reaction.

So I started helping out with the cases you brought home. Solving them like puzzles.

You didn't even seem to notice.

Then one day I found the note.

All of a sudden Kira was the centre of your attention. _I_ was the thing you paid attention to.

And I knew I had to get on the task force somehow. So I could see with my own eyes your frustration over Kira.

It was delicious. Thinking as I watched you fret 'You idiot, if only you paid attention to your family, you'd know exactly who Kira is'.

I will admit to being very pleased that day you took Misa and I out in the car, and threatened to kill us.

Because that meant you were paying attention to me. You had to look me in the eyes and realise the horrible truth that you _might_ have raised a monster.

Or to be more accurate, you weren't around to _stop_ your son becoming a monster.

The amount of time after that you spent distancing yourself from me hurt though. Because once you were sure in your own mind that I was innocent, there was no reason to pay attention to me, was there?

No matter, Sayu got her share of your attention too, didn't she?

Not that you deserved to be the one to rescue her. For as long as I can remember I was the man of the house. You were more of an infrequent visitor.

So by rights, it should have been me who saved Sayu.

She was more my sister than she was your daughter.

But I knew how much it would mean to her to have _daddy_ come to the rescue.

And then finally you died.

And I made sure then that I was the one you saw.

What I really wanted to do in that moment was scream at you that the answer was in front of your eyes all along. If only you had just _looked_ at your own family a little harder. If you'd come home more often and not missed all those birthdays that, yes, we _were_ old enough to remember.

Then you would have seen.

You would have seen that your son was a monster.

You named me Light, but Light died sometime around his tenth birthday when he realised that daddy wasn't going to arrive.

Kira is in front of your eyes.

But you never had the time to see it.


	25. Trouble Lurking

#25 Trouble lurking

#25 Trouble lurking

In hindsight, it was a horrendously bad idea.

Sneaking into Mello's bedroom while he was in gym class had seemed like such an easy way to get find out more about him at the time, Matt reasoned.

The bedroom was smallish, like all of them, a plain blue quilt on the bed that was against one wall, a window opposite the door, a desk opposite the bed, a wardrobe crammed in at the end of the bed, and shelves on any wall space there was, fairly standard for a Wammy's house dormitory.

It was the things scattered around the room that drew Matt in. The things that were undeniably _Mello_.

The box of Thorntons chocolates with half the contents gone on the bed, the little gold wrappers scattered about the floor and pillow. The solid bars of Cadbury's that were piled neatly on the desk, next to an open notebook with a half-finished essay written in Mello's neat print across its pages.

There were rows of reference and text books on the shelves, and on the pin board Mello had over his bed, there were post-its referencing cases Matt _knew_ L was on. Maps of cities, photos from papers of crime scenes.

And, to his immense bliss, a single photograph of the infamous L himself, accompanied by Mello and Matt either side of him, waving at the camera.

Matt knew for a fact that Near had been in that photo too. Mello must have cut him from it.

And he'd been very eager to root around in the older boy's room and see if he could find a sock or an extra chocolate bar or something. Anything of Mello's that he wouldn't miss.

Ok, that seemed too stalker-ish.

It was mostly about getting the boy's journal and seeing what he wrote about his little red-haired sidekick.

Yes, that sounded better, Matt thought to himself.

But he hadn't expected to hear Mello coming down the hall like he had, and in the mad panic he had given a yelp and dove into the wardrobe.

And for three seconds that had seemed a reasonable thing to do.

Then he'd become aware of the fact that he was not, in actuality, alone in Mello's wardrobe.

"…Please god tell me Roger wasn't telling the truth about monsters in the closet." He hissed, trying to keep as silent as possible. Through the slits in the door he could spy Mello's thin form in his gym clothes, calmly tidying away the wrappers scattered over his bed.

"Hello Matt. Why are you snooping in Mello's room?"  
The gamer swallowed. "Near… I could ask you the same question."

The little boy shuffled faintly in the darkness of the wardrobe, "I think you came in to try and find Mello's journal to see if he writes about how he feels for you."

Matt felt his face flush crimson. "I…"  
"Oh look, he's getting changed." The quiet little voice whispered.

Matt's eyes practically leapt out of his head, squinting through the slits as sure enough, Mello lifted his shirt off over his head, rosary bouncing on his chest.

"I…I…"

Near giggled in his creepy little way. "I'm afraid he doesn't write much about anyone other than L." he sighed, "I have to admit, I'm rather disappointed about that too."  
Matt blinked a few times, but his eyes refused to move from the sight of beautiful, slender Mello stripping off his gym uniform.

It occurred to him that he ought to be outraged and hitting Near right at this moment, fighting him for Mello's honour or something like that. Especially since he had a horrible feeling that this was not the first time Near had crept into Mello's bedroom to spy on him.

"You're really very feminine in the way you write your journal, Matt, you can't expect Mello to be the same." Near chirped. "You certainly gush about him a lot."

Matt wriggled uncomfortably in the cramped space, wanting very badly to punch Near in the gut. "You've read my…?" he whispered.

He didn't get to say the rest, as the wardrobe door was opened and the two boys fell out onto the floor of Mello's bedroom, staring up at the handsome blonde boy.

Mello smirked.

"You two are the worst lurkers ever."


	26. Tears

#26 Tears

_Because A. Pseudonym (excellent pen name BTW) asked so nicely, here it is, the Watari chapter!_

Dear Elizabeth would have loved to see the boys.

My Elizabeth, the first day I saw her across the crowded lecture hall I was smitten. Her dark hair was always in a bun, flyaway strands clung around her pale face, and always wearing something the colour of cream.

She was a wonderful woman; dear old Roger competed with me for her hand while we were at University. We were the best of friends through it all, of course, but we fought like tigers for the hand of the lovely Elizabeth.

I am so very grateful that we managed to remain friends, even when one of us lost.

I was the victor of her heart. We had a lovely life for a time, good jobs after university, a house in the country. But always, always, she was consumed by the desire to have children. And the sad truth was that she could not bring a baby to term.

But she was never one to sit around and allow herself to be unhappy. She set up a fund to build an orphanage, began making plans to build an orphanage, because what she wanted so badly was to give a home.

And then she passed away.

My dear lovely Elizabeth… she begged both myself and Roger with her dying wish that we would continue what she began and set up Wammy's House.

We built the house and made a home for them.

And she would have loved to see them.

She would have loved to see little Beyond and Lawliet running around together. She always wanted sons.

She would have loved to see Angel too, with her big round glasses and neatly plaited hair. She would have sat for hours brushing it for her.

Still, Elizabeth's main joy would have doubtless been the sewing. A task that fell on me in the end.

When one is running an orphanage, even one filled with prodigies, they will manage to rip their jeans and shirts, either through fighting or playing or, in the case of some of the stranger children, because 'It's part of an experiment'.

Elizabeth enjoyed sewing; she had very neat little stitches.

Mine are untidy, but they do seem to hold.

I never could fathom out how until one day the twins told me.

Liam and Brian Lawliet, or L and B, as they preferred to be known. At the same time the wisest and silliest of all the children who I had known to pass through the gates of Wammy's house.

They walked up to me that autumn afternoon, both just turned ten, Identical sheepish smiles across their faces.

I remember I sighed and put down the book I was reading, resigning myself to the fact that I would never find out the ending. "What have you two done this time?"

I didn't need an answer really, A quick glance over their twin shapes told me that they'd managed to tear the knees of their jeans, and one of L's back pockets was hanging off the rear of his trousers by a few threads.

"We were playing Detectives." L chirped.

B giggled in his odd way; "L was Sherlock."

"And B was Professor Moriaty." L continued, obsidian eyes shining innocently.

I ought to have just accepted that, long ago deciding that these two would always be something of a question mark, but instead I probed further, "Why not Dr. Watson?"

B bit his thumb, "Because."

L rubbed the back of his head, "Angel's always Dr. Watson anyway. B's a brilliant Moriaty." He cleared his throat, "Anyway, I was chasing B up the waterfall-"

B giggled, weird red eyes glinting. "Slide."

"…Slide, and-"

I shook my head and held up one hand to stop him, "Never mind, I get the general idea. I sometimes think you rip your clothes on purpose."

Both the boys giggled, B squeaked out in his pre-pubescent voice, "Not on purpose… but we do like seeing the sewing lady."

I remember halting in all movement, and then pressing them for details.

We had _never_ employed a woman to sew up the rips in the children's clothes.

After questioning, the boys explained, in tandem, what they meant.

It seemed that all the children in the house knew of this.

When the children had clothes that had been sewn back together, they would be awoken in the night by something none of them could name, some odd feeling or another.

Upon sitting up in their bed, the child would see a woman sitting in their desk chair. A beautiful woman, with her dark hair up in a bun and a pale dress upon her form, her skin translucently pale, a faint golden glow around her. The recently fixed item would be on her lap, so the boys said, she would be making motions as though she were adding her own stitches, but as far as they could tell, she had no needle or thread.

They told me she was very pretty, and smiled when she saw the awoken child. They told me how she would carefully fold whatever she had been mending and stand up, placing it on the chair, where it would be found in the morning…

They told me she would walk to the side of the bed, gently leading the child in question to lay back down, tucking him or her in tightly, and placing a kiss on their forehead that made them instantly sleepy.

They all called her the sewing lady.

To them she was just a kindly spirit, or a shared hallucination.

To me she was confirmation that I had done as she would have wished, and given her a home full of happy children.

To me it meant she was still, in some small way, with me, strengthening my stitches with her own invisible ones.

Mending the tears I could not, giving to our poor, lonely children the one thing I could not give, mothers love and adoration.

Oh, I know very well the boys could have been making it up, and to this day I myself have never seen the mysterious spirit they spoke of.

But I desperately believe that she _is_ still there.

Mending the tears.


	27. Foreign

#27 Foreign

"Come on Raito! Hurry or we'll miss the parade!" Misa squealed excitedly, her tiny form wrapped in several layers of the fine pink silk that made up her Yukata which was scattered with gold sparkles in the threads. Her hair was tied up in a bun with a bright golden fan decoration, flecks of pink fluff added to both the fan and her hair. In one hand she clutched a second fan and a matching purse.

Light smiled faintly. When she made an effort to look less like a popslut, he could honestly get on board with the idea of her being his girlfriend. Especially now, she looked so pretty, even under the fluorescent lights of the headquarters.

"I'll be right there Misa, I'm having some trouble with the damn ties…" He replied, struggling to find the correct knot for his own traditional dress. Of course he'd gone with a more subtle black and silver motif, hardly wanting to _match_ the hyperactive model.

There came a sigh from the computers, and the squeak of a chair turning.

Ryuzaki. He tilted his head at the two; "…There is some reason behind your strange clothes?"

Misa laughed, "It's the spring festival!! Everyone dresses up traditionally for the festival!" She fanned herself. "Come to think of it, why aren't you?"

Light blinked. That was a good question, now he thought about it. Why wasn't Ryuzaki in a yukata too? The spring festival would be right up his street, with all the free sweet snacks that were handed out.

To his intense astonishment, the older man blushed.

"Misa-san forgets that I am not Japanese." He said quietly.

Misa giggled, "Oh yeah. Misa forgets because you speak it so well… even so, that's no reason not to come and join in!" She bounced across the floor, an impressive feat in that tightly-bound dress, and began pulling the man's arm.

Ryuzaki did not move. "My knowledge of Japanese customs falls just short of knowing firstly how to tie one of those things, and secondly how to behave at a festival." He pulled his arm back from Misa's grip. "Therefore I will stay here."

Light grinned, finishing tying his Yukata at last, and marching over. "That argument is, at best, pathetic, Ryuzaki."

The detective frowned. "Light-kun is going the right way to feel my foot in his face. _Again._"

Light shook his head, "No offence meant. Honestly though, come with us." He glanced at Misa, "I think I have a spare Yukata that _might_ fit. You'd enjoy it."

Misa nodded, "Ryuzaki-san _must_ come! The fireworks are always so beautiful and they give out sweeties!"

That did it. The older man's black eyes lit up with interest, able to smell free sweets from a mile away. "Well…"  
Ten minutes later he was standing by his chair, whining slightly while Misa and Light did their level best to make a blue Yukata patterned with green fish fit him.

However, given his skinny physique, he ended up swimming in the clothing, the sleeves reaching beyond his hands and the ties bound tight enough to restrict air in normal humans.

Still, Light and Misa privately agreed, he did look _adorable._

They dragged him all through the fair that lined the streets of Tokyo that night. Though at first he protested and tried to keep his calm and collected demeanour intact, out of desperation not to offend anyone or come across as an ignorant westerner, by the time the fireworks began he seemed like more of a happy child than the world's greatest detective.

The three found a spot in the crowd to observe the fireworks, Misa and Light flanking the detective on either side, as he stuffed his mouth with pocky and intermittently mumbled requests for Misa to get him more sweets.

The finale of the show roared overhead as a giant cherry blossom of fireworks lit up the sky and made it seem like a strange pink sun had lit the world.

L tugged their sleeves and whispered, "Arigato for making me come with you."

The night was not mentioned again until November.

November, when the young couple wandered into the HQ to discover their dear friend gnawing away at an apple on a stick, coated in toffee.

"What's that?"

"Toffee apple." He had replied happily, "Watari got it for me, because it's Guy Fawkes night."

"…It is?" Light asked, raising one eyebrow as his mind tried to recall if that was an event he knew of. He vaguely recalled something in his English language classes, but for once he had not been paying total attention and could not remember what.

And L had smiled wider, jumping out of his chair, "Oh, I forgot, you don't have that here, do you?" he lapped at his apple once, then chirped out, "Well there isn't any dressing up, and it'll only be Watari letting off some small fireworks around a very, very small bonfire, but Misa-san and Light-kun can join in if they want."


	28. Sorrow

#28 Sorrow

I wish I were a guardian angel

I wish I were a human

I wish I were anything other than what I am.

I'm not very good at it anyway; I'm the lowest on the rung of the Shinigami ladder. The others make fun of me.

I wish I were pale and attractive like Rem.

I wish I were tall and cunning like Ryuk

I wish my stitches would turn to gold and my patches into silk, the bone into jewels.

Then they wouldn't laugh at me, for being small and ugly and made out of scraps swept up from the floor.

I wish I were braver

I wish I were better

I wish I wasn't so pathetic.

I'm a shinigami who doesn't like killing people. Whoever heard of something so stupid? I'm too afraid to do the basic thing I need to survive! I can only ever bear to kill those who are suffering anyway.

I wish I were popular

I wish I were the shinigami king.

I wish I had a friend.

I would kill for just one person to talk to. All the others have their friends who they whisper to. Even that psychopath Deridovely has Gukku. I have no-one who'll sit and play games with me. So all I can do is stare at the human world, on my own.

I wish I were a human.

I wish I were a handsome prince.

I wish I could be worthy of your glance.

I loved you the moment I saw you. So young and full of life, so pretty… so sad. For a moment, looking down at your poor, tearful face, it seemed that you were looking right back at me. Impossible, I know. For a second I even believed that you knew what it was like to be like me.

But that's wrong, you've never been the lowest rung, or mocked. But you _have_ known loneliness, haven't you? And that's not right.

I wish you better than your heart desires

I wish you good fortune forever.

I wish you all the things you think you need to be happy

What I wouldn't give to be with you on earth… I'd do anything to make you happy. You wouldn't even have to look at me, I don't mind.

Besides, if you liked me back I'd only mess it up somehow.

I wish a more worthy shinigami would love you

I wish _Rem_ would love you.

I wish you would love me

I would never be worth your time, not like the other shinigami, all thin and attractive and statuesque.

I wish today wasn't the last day

I wish I knew what was going to happen

I wish there were a way to change it

I wish there were another way.

I wish for you to live.

Even if I have to die.

Misa…

I wish… I wish…

_Whew, Okay, I hate having to ask random people whom I don't know for help, but the next drabble title is 'Happiness' and I can't think of anything to write about, please leave suggestions in reviews? :)_


	29. Happiness

#29 Happiness

_(Boy, Mikami is hard to take seriously. Every time I started typing I kept hearing him in my head going 'OMG it's God!!' lol)_

To anyone else in the world it seems like I've had a hard time.

I never knew my father. He was just some man who got my mother into trouble and ran.

Bullied from childhood, for defending people who couldn't fight back on their own, so often ending up with broken bones and bruises.

Discovering slowly but surely that there was no justice in the world.

Loosing mother to that tragic accident.

And realising all at once that while justice did not exist in the world, someone else was suddenly working to smite the wicked.

And I knew. It was god. It was whatever merciful god I had always followed in my own heart, finally making the world aware of his existence.

It took some work and risks, but I tracked him down. I found him.

Hearing his voice for the first time was better than falling in love. I wished I had a way of recording it so I could listen to that sound over and over again, memorising every lilt, imagining the lips that formed those words.

My god…use me in any way you deem fit, I am yours to command. Make me your Moses. With your powers leant to me, I will perform your wonders.

I wept when the package arrived. Tears falling from my face onto the paper as I almost ran back into my home.

I placed it at my desk, and stared at the handwriting in which my address was written.

He looped the ends of his U's, like I do…

He drew small circles, not dots, over the I's, like I do.

I wondered what he looked like? I knew from his voice he was young… to be manipulating that stupid newsreader he must have been handsome…

I cut the envelope open very slowly and carefully.

And there in my hands was the tool of the gods. Thor's hammer, Apollo's chariot, Zeus' lightening.

I read every rule. So carefully and slowly, not wanting to miss a single thing.

I had been chosen…

Me…

"Heh, you look happier than Raito did."

I spun in my seat and beheld a monster.

No, no, God explained this to me, this creature was no monster, it was a friend.

He instructed me of one particular thing, I recall.

I reached into my briefcase and pulled out the apple. "…You're Ryuk?"

The creature laughed and stared longingly at the apple. "That's me. Gimme the apple!"

I obliged, ignoring it's noisy eating as I read the laws of the gods tool. I only spoke to it when I needed to confirm to myself the loopholes I was beginning to see.

I wanted to do it properly.

I wanted to please god, and make sure he did not regret his choice for one moment.

All those years of being beaten, of being told that I should just forget my silly pursuit of what I thought was just and right and true…

All of them culminating in this moment when I held the power of god in my hand and knew that I had been right all along.

And I was happy.


	30. Under the Rain

#30 Under the Rain

God I love kissing you.

Doesn't matter when or how or why, because it always makes my stomach feel fuzzy.

Remember when we were kids and you always begged me to kiss you goodnight?

I called you names, but now I guess it's okay to tell you that I always felt flattered. I had to call you named and mock you though, because kids can't deal with the idea that someone might think they're strange.

Still, you kept begging in that cute way and I caved in, because even then saying no to you felt like kicking a spaniel.

I suppose the weirdest thing was that it never felt weird. Kissing each other's cheeks before we climbed into our bunk beds never ever _felt_ strange.

It just felt nice.

And when we got a bit older, we had to stop the sweet bedtime kisses. Because after having the infamous health lessons where the teachers explain exactly how babies are made, any and all touches suddenly seem overwhelming and terrifying.

Hah, like puberty isn't scary enough without having to listen to a teacher telling you that all kinds of weird stuff is about to start happening in your pants, right?

Still, that day my voice broke when I was in the church choir, and I ran all the way back to wammy's in tears of humiliation… you got me to kiss you again.

You came into our room and put your arm around me, told me that it wasn't really that bad, and that at least now people wouldn't mistake me for a girl.

And I said 'You're so sweet, making up crap for me.' Then I kissed you.

That was the first and last time we kissed on the lips as teenagers. Because only a week or two later, I left. And we hadn't said a word about it since it happened.

Well, we were still kids. It was too awkward to consider anything more than being best friends who had accidentally slipped into something a little more, if only for a second.

I didn't see you again for years.

I realised I was gay, and made my peace with it. Had a few flings here and there with Mafia members I considered good enough.

Then after one of the flings I caught myself sitting alone in my room, and a dozen tears ran down my face.

I wasn't even sure why.

Slowly it dawned on me that I was tending towards the red-haired ones, who wore glasses.

Slowly it dawned on me that I had always wanted you to be the first. Something my own stupidity had made impossible.

Slowly it dawned that the only person I'd ever really wanted to be with was back in England, and probably moving on with his life, dating some pretty girl, living.

But you weren't.

You came running to me, like you always did. My lovely, loyal Matty.

Even then we didn't tell each other how it was. Even though we both knew from the moment we saw each other again how it would end up.

But a week later, we got caught in the rain, walking back to that crappy apartment.

We were drenched. I was pissed off, you were being your usual irritatingly cheerful self.

And…

You looked so damn gorgeous in the rain, water running through your hair, splashes on your goggles, shirt and stupid furry vest soaked through to nothing…

And I knew that you were the person I'd spend my life with. You were the only person who had ever made me feel like I didn't have to compete. You were the only thing in the world that'd never left me. You were the thing that was totally mine, and the one thing Near couldn't have.

You were 'The one'.

You reached and touched my scar.

You whispered through the raindrops, "God Mello… you're beautiful. Everyone in the world should know that. Mihael Kheel is the most beautiful person alive."

That did it.

You speaking my real name… that erased any doubts there and then. If I hadn't been in love before that, I was now.

I kissed you.

Kissing in the rain. Stumbling back to our apartment. Whispered apologies from me for not waiting to you to be the first. Stupid, romantic stuff like that.

Don't get me wrong, the stuff in bed is fantastic, it just gets better and better with you. And I like the cuddly stuff too, even if I pretend not to. I especially like it when you let me lay with my head in your lap while you watch tv, petting my hair like a cat.

But kissing you is the best.

Kisses on the cheek to say goodnight, awkward kisses on the lips to cheer me up, on my forehead or on the scar, to let me know you'll always think I'm beautiful, down my arms when I'm being bitchy and you're calling me on it…

They always make my stomach go fuzzy, and my knees tremble a bit.

But my favourite is kissing you in the rain.


	31. Flowers

#31 Flowers

He didn't really set much stock in the old traditions of weddings. He said that if accidentally seeing ones wife before the moment of truth could destroy a marriage then it obviously wasn't a very strong one to begin with.

He said he didn't much mind if she decided to wear white, black or lime green, because he was happy just to be marrying her.

He said he didn't mind what kind of ceremony they had, just so long as they could have it in a church that he said quietly held special memories for him.

She believed the whole lot though.

She'd planned practically everything, settling on following a more western ceremony, choosing only one bridesmaid (her sister), and quietly whispering to her faithful shinigami that she was the maid of honour.

Especially the old rhyme about something old, something new.

She'd had a tough time of it, especially since she didn't have many female friends to help her out during the crisis time before her wedding.

Still, her sister was at least trying to help, and managing not to get drunk and stupid at least before the reception.

"Misa, you look so _pretty._" She cooed, "Mom and Dad would have been so proud…"

Misa blushed and shifted in her white Kimono, silk and satin. She'd insisted on the best for that, saying that she wanted to make sure she was the most beautiful bride ever.

He'd said that she was always beautiful, even when she wore his old shirts and old, ripped shorts. Even first thing in the morning when she was devoid of make-up and her hair was a mess.

"Now then, you've got something old, mom's necklace, something new is the wedding dress, something borrowed, my pearl earrings…" Rina chirped on and on, evidently a trait the sisters shared. Although Rina looked more traditionally Japanese, with her dark hair and eyes.

Misa swallowed nervously. Sitting here in the dressing room at the back of the old church he'd practically begged her to marry him in; everything started rushing into focus. It hardly seemed real that only a year had passed since Kira's capture, and here she was about to be married. Where was her shame? Shouldn't she have been grieving?

Behind her Rem tenderly shook her head, "Don't let him ruin this day for you Misa, you've been looking forward to it for such a long time."

The young bride smiled a little.

"What's so funny?" Rina questioned. "And where's your bouquet?"

Misa sighed, "I'm just smiling because I'm nervous… and he said he'd get my flowers for me… it was actually about the only thing he asked to do." She tilted her head, "Why don't you go ask him about it? You could check on the groomsmen while you're at it."

God, how chaotic they'd been. He'd chosen three originally, until one of them refused to stand with one of the others. Now they had two groomsmen who were apparently going to lead Rina down the aisle, and one ring bearer whom might have decided not to attend just to be awkward.

Rem patted Misa's head as her sister hurried off. "Aren't you excited?"

"Of course I am." Misa replied, "I've waited for this day my entire life… but I'm really nervous too…"

"Because of the flowers?"

Misa rolled her eyes; she was getting annoyed that people kept assuming all of her worries were based on planning her wedding, and not anything of any great importance.

"I don't care about the flowers," she snapped, "Rem, Light was executed a year ago! Because of information _I_ provided!"

Rem nodded, "But you said at the time that you didn't love Light Yagami… you said that the man you really loved was-"

Misa blew her fringe out of her eyes, "I know… and it's true, but even so… how can he bear to marry me, knowing that I betrayed Light so easily?"

Rem moved her huge and delicate form around to face the young girl. No, young woman now, she corrected herself. "Misa, you betrayed him because you saw the monster he was becoming. You realised that he was using you. You realised that someone in the world loved you more than anything, it just wasn't Light." She sighed, "No-one can blame you for what you did, or for being happy now."

Misa felt the large claw-like fingers of her shinigami lift her chin gently.

"Now smile, Misa, it's your wedding day."

The door burst open, and Rina thrust the bouquet into Misa's hands. "Come on! It's about to start!" she winked, "Don't want to keep that hunk of yours waiting!"

Misa smirked, "You just want to get to the reception so you can try and seduce that French man."

Rina stuck out her tongue, "He wishes, I've got my eye on that funny little police man, Matsuda, was it?"

Misa almost laughed.

She didn't even look down at the flowers in her hands until her sister was being led down the aisle, and she was waiting for her cue behind the curtains.

She beamed.

She'd complained to him that she wanted flowers that meant something special, not just the old standard of roses, and not lilies, with their smell of death… and she'd mumbled that she couldn't find anything blue and it was worrying her.

He'd told her she was being superstitious and silly, but if it meant that much to her, he'd do something.

And he had.

The bouquet was made of lollipops, shaped like flowers. And the ribbon that bound them together was the same shade of pale blue as her eyes.

The music started and she walked through the curtain, eyes fixed straight ahead.

During the ceremony she hissed across to him, "Thank you for the 'flowers'."

"Do you really have to throw them away later?"

She almost giggled, and then whispered back, "I think that's a tradition I can bear to miss."


	32. Night

#32 Night

_In the night, dreams delight.  
- Dreams Dreams, NiGHTS game series_

And tonight was no exception.

Through the dreamscapes, creatures danced and wove stories for the dreamers.

L dreamt, not of sweets, as was expected, but of endless summer as a child. Playing forever in the grass outside that friendly old house that he would forever consider his home. In his dreams he was a child again, able to join with the games of his heirs. In his dream, they were all friends, and none of the arguing between Mello and Near was present.

In his dream they all four ran and dove in and out of the woodland, playing hide and seek until the sun began to set. And when it did, dear Watari and Roger would come out and fetch them into the house, setting them all down in front of the fireplace in L's own room. They would sip coco and whisper to one another, clad in cotton pyjamas with blankets around their shoulders.

Sometimes, BB and Angel were there too.

And finally, Watari would pick each one up and tuck them into one huge bed, allowing them all to cuddle up sleepily. He would tell them some lovely old bedtime story.

Light's dreams turned long ago into nightmares. Ryuk did warn him that the note brought difficult dreams to many of the owners, but of course the great Light Yagami didn't have to pay attention to such a fact.

His Nightmares often featured the undead, surrounding him as he lay helpless, screaming. They would leer down at him, with their eyes that glowed as red as a shinigami's, and they would chant.

_Kira, Kira, Kira, Kira_

_Are you god or are you a killer?_

Kira, Kira, Kira, Kira Monsters wait to thrill and chill ya

Sometimes the nightmares were more specific, and he was being hunted down on a lonely street by a figure he couldn't identify until it rose up in front of him. The late Naomi Misora.

Light did not sleep well anymore. But he did sleep.

Misa dreamt of the future.

She dreamt of a world free of evil and cruel people. She dreamt of how she and Light would be paraded through the city and people would cheer and wave, adoring their god and his bride.

She dreamt of how their shinigami would fly along behind them in a pair, twirling prettily like feathers in the wind.

She dreamt of a wedding in the first church of Kira, her clad in pure white, and Light in a fine black suit. How he would smile at her and whisper 'I do'. How he'd kiss her deeply and all their followers would shriek with delight and sing hymns to the greatness of their god.

She dreamt of how Light would sweep her off her feet and carry her into their home, a palace, usually. He would take her to their bedroom and…

And that was where the dreams always went bad. Because when he opened the door there would always be…

L, waiting. Grinning evilly. And with one shove he would send Light falling back down the stairs, Misa with him.

And as she passed out, she would hear him laughing.

Across oceans, in England, in an orphanage for geniuses, Mello dreamt of being the king of a land made of chocolate.

He'd always be served by his faithful Matt, for some reason always clad in Elizabethan style dress. Served truffles and Turkish delight on a tray made of gold while he sat in a throne made of dark chocolate. Reigning over a land where the grass was mint chocolate, and Easter bunnies ran across the fields.

Oh, and to his extreme annoyance, he always work up just as he was ordering Near to be executed by having a giant gumdrop fall on him, he'd wake up.

Matt dreamt of games. More specifically, of being in games. The rules varied, depending on what game in particular he was the hero of that night. Tonight it was Legend of Zelda.

He drew his sword and ran towards the evil king Ganondorf, whose wicked laugh shook the castle. In one arm he held captive the beautiful princess…

Well, it was always Princess _Mello._ Matt never dared tell Mello this, though. He reasoned it was the boy's own fault for looking so girly.

With great heroics and many cheat codes, he would destroy the evil king, or defeat the final boss, or complete the final level, depending on the game, and into his arms the beautiful princess would fall.

He always woke up before the kiss came. But that was how games tended to work, leaving the fans with just enough to want more.

Near dreamt of playrooms. Of giant jack-in-the-boxes and evil giggling. Of huge teddy bears with bleeding eyes.

He was starting to become an insomniac.

_In the Night, Dreams Delight_

_I want to see you standing there._

_In the Night, Dreams delight,_

_I want to see you smile again  
-Dreams Dreams, NiGHTS_


	33. Expectations

#33 Expectations

_Ok, this is a very, very odd pairing, I am aware of this, I just wanted to see if it worked._

"Misaaa!! I don't _want_ to go on a double-date with you and Light-kun!" Sayu whined, tugging at the arm her brother's girlfriend was holding in a vice grip.

Misa smiled adorably, "Misa-misa is sorry, Sayu-chan, but Light-kun wouldn't come unless I found someone to go with his… um… strange friend."  
Say stuck out her tongue, "Why not take one of your model friends?"  
Misa blushed, not wanting to tell the young girl that upon hearing a short description of the infamous Ryuzaki, all her friends had suddenly and instantaneously had better things to be doing that night.

She was saved having to come up with a convincing lie, however, when she caught sight of Light and Ryuzaki walking out of the doors of the Kira task force headquarters. Light his usual immaculate self, and L looking like he'd just rolled out of bed and pulled on the clothes from last night.

Sayu's eyes widened in horror. "You have _got_ to be kidding!! He's twice my age!" she hissed.

Misa blushed, "He's not _that_ old… _please,_ Sayu-chan? Misa wants to go out with Light-kun and he insists on bringing Ryuuga."

Sayu blinked. "…Ryuuga? As in Hideki?"

Misa nodded, "Yeah. He's got the same name…" she smiled sheepishly, "Come on, maybe you'll enjoy it!"

Sayu sighed heavily, resigning herself to the ordeal that would surely follow.

"Light-kun!!" Misa squealed, leaping through the air and throwing herself at Light, knocking the poor boy to the ground.

Sayu stood awkwardly rubbing one of her arms, bare since she was in a summer dress. She was beginning to regret having agreed to this, and then bothering to dress prettily, given that her apparent date hadn't made an effort.

"…Hello."

She tried to force a smile. "Hi. I'm Sayu." She offered her hand, "I'm Light's sister…"

He took her hand, "I know. Light-kun talks about you a lot." Rather than shake it, he lifted her hand and kissed it. "I'm Hideki Ryuuga."

XOXOXOXO

She wouldn't have believed it a few hours ago, but Sayu had to admit, she was actually enjoying herself.

They'd ended up wandering to a fairground. And when the girls had spotted a stall offering cute teddy bears as prizes, they had naturally demanded their dates win them one of the plushies each.

To Sayu's intense amusement, her big brother had floundered somewhat at the game and hadn't won a thing, leaving Misa in a sulk and her big brother in an even bigger sulk.

Ryuuga, on the other hand, had won her the biggest and cutest plushie panda on the stall.

They'd gone on one of the big coaster rides, which had made her brother ill, partially on Misa's dress.

And now they were all standing leaning against the food stall. Light was grumbling that he'd spent half his savings and had nothing to show for it but a stomach ache, Misa was whining and dabbing at her dress with tissues and Ryuuga was happily buying a bag of candy floss.

He returned to the three of them, "Anyone want to share?" he questioned, holding up the bag of pink fluff.

Light made a face and Misa shook her head mournfully.

Sayu grinned, "I will! I love candy floss!"

They gnawed their way through the bag happily.

"I shouldn't really eat this, I'll get bad teeth."

Ryuuga shook his head, "I eat sweets exclusively and mine are fine."

"Oh…" she blinked. "Umm… So how do you know Light-kun anyway? He never mentioned you."

Light snapped irritably, "We sort of work together."

Sayu's mouth dropped open, "Are you a detective?"

"In a manner of speaking." Ryuuga replied, nibbling a handful of the fluffy pink sweets. "I'm heading the Kira investigation force." He glanced across at Light, "To be totally honest, your big brother was a suspect for a while."

Sayu blinked, then started to giggle, "Light? Kira? No way!" She laughed, "He might be a meanie who reads his sister's diary, but he's not a murderer."

Light rolled his eyes, "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

L smirked, "So Light-kun has a previous criminal record?"

Light scowled, "Shut up Ryuuga." He snapped. "It was only once and years ago for gods sake."

Sayu rolled her eyes and moved a couple of steps closer to her date whom, now she looked properly, he wasn't all that bad-looking.  
"You know… this was a really fun night." She cooed.

He blushed faintly. "Sayu-san, I really feel I ought to tell you, as a gentleman, that because of my suspicion of your brother, there were surveillance cameras in your home, the inadvertent result of which… well…"

Light grumbled and then snapped out at once, "Sayu, he's seen you naked in the shower, now can we please get this hideous evening over with so that I can go home?"

Sayu blushed faintly for a moment.

Then she smiled wickedly, moving maybe an inch closer to the young man, "Liked what you saw?"

XOXOXOX  
"Hahah! And the look on Light-kun's face!"

Sayu grinned, "Well he _teases_ me so much!" She giggled, "Serves him right."

Ryuuga nodded, "I quite agree." He glanced around her shoulder into the Yagami home, apparently checking to see if Light had staggered upstairs yet. Deciding that it was safe enough, he leant a little closer to the young girl. "And in answer to your earlier question, Yes."

The evening defied expectations, and ended in a chaste kiss.


	34. Stars

#34 Stars

Sitting out on damp grass staring up at a moonlit sky, the person you love the most in the world laying at your side, how could it get any better than this?

Well, not having Near and Matt around might have helped some.

L pushed himself into a sitting position, looking down at his three heirs, each one staring up at the night sky.

Really he ought to have taken them into the house long ago, but he knew his time at Wammy's was growing ever shorter, and soon enough he'd have to leave them.  
He didn't want to, not at all. If he had his way, they'd be coming with him.

He shook his head to himself, but that would have been childish and dangerous. And while he would allow himself certain childish things, putting them in danger was one thing he forbade.

A very responsible seventeen-year-old, many would have said.

He gave a sigh, "Are you three going to make wishes?"

Near tilted his head, arms clutching his panda plush to his chest. "Wish?"

Mello rolled his eyes, "On the stars, right L?"

L nodded, "Why so sarcastic, Mello?"

The little boy pulled a face, "Wishing's for babies. Anyway I forgot the rhyme."

L sighed, "I still make wishes. It may be a silly thing to do, but sometimes it can help one to realise what they most want." He turned his head to the stars, naming constellations in his mind.

There was Scorpio, his own sigh. The Scorpian, a creature built to kill.

"Would Mello like me to remind him of the rhyme?" He asked.

Mello sat up and bolted into L's lap, snuggling his face to L's chest while simultaneously glaring at Near.

"Matt, Near, you come listen as well." L said gently, watching the other two get up and move over to sit either side of him.

From this point on the hillside, they looked down on Wammys. They looked down on the entire countryside and the little villages. So high up they could almost touch the moon and sweep the stars.

As if to test this, Matt lifted one hand up and traced an invisible line through the constellations.

"Star light, Star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I make tonight." L whispered, as though this were some great secret.

The children closed their eyes and chorused the rhyme back.

Wish, wish, wish, and wish.

Four wishes from orphans, children who ought to have wanted more from their lives than the happiness they got from sitting together under starlight.

Near wished for time. More time to spend as a child, to study and hone his mind to the pinprick precision it would need to be if he ever hoped to be as bright as L. More time to make sure that one day he would be able to make him proud.

Matt clenched his eyes and wished feverishly that Mello would be nicer to him. Then his mind hesitated, and threw that one away, instead wishing for L to care more about Mello. He was sure that would make Mello happy, and then he might not hit Matt anymore, or tease Near as much.

Mello grinned evilly and wished for dozens of things. More chocolate. Near to have some sort of horrible accident, L to take him along on his travels around the world, naming him as his assistant, taking him out every night to stare up at the stars like this.  
Mostly he wished that L's wish would come true.

L's wish was a simple one. He was like that, he didn't have much to want, after all. He had everything he really needed, and didn't strictly speaking believe he was entitled to any more than he had.

But he did wish one thing very hard indeed.

_If there's anything up there listening… please, please let fate be kind… and say that they never have to take my place. Say they never have to bear the cross that is being 'L'. Say they never have to realise with sudden urgency that while the power is great, with it comes the knowledge that you can never have a real home or family._

He sighed deeply. "…What did you wish for?"

Matt laughed in his ever-cheerful way, "We can't _tell_ you! Then they won't come true!!"

L smiled back, "Of course. Forgive my forgetting." He stood up smoothly, "In any case, we should be getting back, Mr. Wammy will go spare when he realises what time it is."

They wandered down the hill towards Wammy's house.

And all that was left were stars.


	35. Hold my Hand

#35 Hold my hand

What happened…?

I hurt… all over… my skin… so sore…

I can't see…

Bandages?

Oh… she figured it out, stopped the final part of the mystery…

Damn her…

How dare she solve it? Even with his help? How dare she solve the puzzle that was meant specifically for him?

"Don't try and move."

I know that voice. It's been years since I heard it though.

"Approximately 70 percent of your body is covered in third degree burns." It says calmly. "Your hair was burnt off."

I feel so broken.

I can't even look like him anymore…

How can I be who I am if I can't be L?

"Does it hurt very badly?"

I can't move my lips. He must know that, surely.

"Sorry, that was inconsiderate and stupid, of course it hurts, and you are incapable of replying."

L…

God, I missed you.

"You're going to spend the rest of your life in jail." He sighs. "BB, why? You could have done wonderful things with your mind. You're incredibly intelligent."

I whine. "Not… nuff."

I almost hear him smile. "You were always intelligent _enough_Bb. Completely barking crazy as well, but that doesn't mean you're not intelligent."

A gentle hand on my head, on top of the bandages. A fingertip slips underneath the cloth just a little bit and I can feel that cool, familiar skin on my damaged nerves.

If I try, I can smell his unique scent too, over the bleach of hospital floors and I.V. fluid.

Strawberries and sugar. Cotton and denim. He's eaten something with butterscotch in it recently.

"BB…" He whispers. "…I feel I ought to congratulate you. The puzzle was extremely clever, I doubted I would solve it at times. Very well done."

…He's flattering me, I know.

But in this state, all I can do is take the compliment.

Take it and feel tears try to force out of the eyes that are so, so sore and painful that the salt burns.

I hate this. I hate it.

I hate that he can do this to me.

I never ever submit to anyone.

Except L.

I manage to make what's left of my hand twitch.

He blinks, then sighs, "Poor Beyond."

And he holds my hand.


	36. Precious Treasure

#36 Precious treasure

So small… so unbelievably small.

Every tiny piece perfectly sculpted in miniature of a human being. Resting so quietly in the arms of the adoring mother, staring up at her with its big, beautiful eyes.

A little hand reaches up, and those eyes blink curiously at the pink object that apparently is theirs to control. Little tiny object with a neat row of pearl nails.

Relatives and friends of hers come and go, visiting the infant, their comments blurring into one mess of noise around the mother and child.

"He's so _small_…"

"Oh, he's so beautiful."

"He's got his father's eyes."

Father…

He'd sent a message along, saying how sorry he was that he couldn't be there. That he would be there as soon as humanly possible, and he'd make up for this.

"Would you like me to fetch you anything, miss?"

The mother shook her head gently to the old man. Dear old Watari, he'd utterly refused to leave her side, offering himself in the stead of the child's father.

"The boys were wondering if they could come see?"

She nodded gently, not wanting to joggle the tiny form that relied on her so completely, that she loved so unconditionally that it made her ache.

In they trooped in a neat row.

"Hello… baby." Near whispered, holding out a soft panda toy with a ribbon tied around it's neck. "I brought him his own Panda-chan."

Mello looked for a moment like he might mock, but evidently realised that this was neither the time or the place. He bit on his chocolate bar and leant forward to examine the baby.

"Does he have a name yet?" he asked.

The young mother shook her head, "I promised I'd wait."

The blonde boy nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure he'll be here soon."

Beside him Matt laughed a little, "Yeah, Sherlock never misses the important stuff." He pushed Mello gently in the side to get a better vantage point. "Wow, he's the spit of you, isn't he?"

Near twirled a strand of hair. "He has L's eyes."

Matt smirked, "Yeah, poor little sod." He offered one finger to the baby, who obligingly grabbed it and started to gum the leather-covered appendage. "Listen up little guy, you're going to find out soon enough, your dad is a really clever guy who probably won't be around a whole lot. Your Uncle Near has a lot of toys that you won't be able to play with for ages yet, and your Uncle Mello is a psychopathic blower up of things."

"Hey!" 'Uncle Mello' protested.

Matt ignored him. "But I'm your Uncle Matt and I'm going to make sure you have loads of fun. I'll teach you how to play Mario."

Watari smiled fondly, "That's enough now boys… let them rest."

They left.

She laid there, allowing the baby to feed at her breast, wondering where, where he could be. Wondered if there was any truth in Matt's warning that the boy's father would most likely not have much time to raise him.

After time, the child fell asleep, and so did she, still weary from the birth.

She awoke in the night.

And she saw him, staring into the cradle of their newborn with an expression she had never seen before. A mix of wonder and horror. She was almost certain she could see a little tear in one eye.

"Hello." She whispered.

He turned suddenly, moving, as he always did, like a cat. Albeit at this moment it was a startled cat, but one nonetheless. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head, "It's fine… saying hello to your son?"

He nodded, "I… I wish someone had informed me beforehand how… overwhelming this is. He… he looks just like you…"

She giggled faintly, "Everyone's saying that, but I don't see it. He's got your eyes."

The new father sighed faintly and moved over to her, kissing her forehead just once, "Lucky for him he looks so much like his beautiful mother."

She made a noise somewhere between sighing and purring. "Would you like to name him? I know he'll have to have my last name to be safe, but I want you to give him his name."

The world's greatest detective nodded and once more stood and looked down at his newborn son.

So full of every possibility, so perfect and unspoilt, just waiting to go into the world and take it all on, with dark black eyes and soft wisps of blonde hair.

He knew what to name him.

He would name him after the greatest thing in the world, the finest treasure any man could hope to achieve.

"Justice." He said. "His name is Justice Amane."


	37. Eyes

#37 Eyes

One of the very few things that are mentioned in the note regarding the trading of eyes is that the shinigami who makes the trade receives human eyes.

And to many of the shinigami who have made the trade this is not an advantage. It is an adjustment, to not see the world tinted with the red of decay, or the symbols and digits of names and lifespan.

But when I made the trade…

I gained. There can be no doubt about that. I gained so much from taking your beautiful blue eyes.

You see the world so wonderfully, Misa. I don't know why you could ever want to make the trade for my eyes.

Eyes that only see the darkness in the world, the decay and death. That only see the colour and beauty of your world in places untouched by humanity.

Yours see everything like that.

I'd never known that the sky was blue before.

Or that your hair was the colour of sunlight, your lips a shade of peach, or ruby when you're in make-up.

I'd never seen trees and flowers as they appear to you before. I'd never been able to see humans as more than a series of letters and numbers.

I don't understand why you surround yourself with black.

There's so much beauty here, so much light and air.

I was the one who gained.

How unfair.

Because I took from you. I took far, far more than my share in our trade.

I took half your life. And though you don't believe it's worth living, one thing about shinigami that is so often overlooked is our value of human life.

How can you consider it worthless?

Humans are so confusing.

And a great many, I have discovered during my time here with you, are revolting.

But You...

You see the world with a shine and a shimmer, I believe the phrase is 'through rose-tinted glasses'. You see every human being as having the potential to do good with their lives.

I wish I could believe what your eyes tell me. That every human has a lot of good inside them.

The problem is, as you see it, everyone also has a little bad. And sometimes that bad grows, engorges itself until the good is simply crushed like a butterfly on the wheel of a truck.

If only everyone could see the world as you do.

If only everyone could see the beauty all around them.

Humans _are_ able to make beauty. You showed me a book once of architecture from around the world and I was stunned to hear that humans had built them all. You showed me images of paintings done by humans that made my cold shinigami heart skip beats.

They are _capable_ of great kindness. You told me stories of humans who have given their lives to help others, spent their short times on earth trying to do good for others, even if it didn't have any reward other than the satisfaction of knowing you did the right thing.

The problem is…

That other humans see the world around them with the ugliness. Skyscrapers and smog. And I suppose, when you look out of a window and see only ugliness, and know with cold certainty that you are the species that paved over a paradise to build ugliness…

It's very hard to resist becoming ugly yourself.

I suppose when you are bombarded with tales of humans killing one another over something that doesn't really matter, when you see cruelty and have to face the fact that you are essentially the same as the torturer…

It's difficult not to allow your own cruelty to grow.

And allow your goodness to die, out of the sheer futility of living.

Is that why you made the trade? Gave me your wonderful eyes?

Because your good, pure soul finally reached breaking point, and now all you can do is lay down and allow the evil to consume you?

Misa…

I want you to take them back.

Take them back and go somewhere surrounded only by children.

Seeing them playing in schoolyards as we wander Tokyo, I am always amazed.

At the hope that streams from them. And I know for a fact that if I had my true eyes, looking upon them I would see no red.

Through young and innocent and good souls, the beauty of the world shines bright and true.

No matter whose eyes you own.


	38. Abandoned

#38 Abandoned

_Warning: This chapter contains some religious themes, if in any way I manage to offend anyone, I apologise._

Germany, 1989, December 13th.

Snow was falling heavily now. The streets were thronged with Christmas shoppers, making it hard to get around.

Even harder if you were as heavily pregnant as this woman was.

Woman wasn't the right world.

Child. That's what she was.

A mere child, just sixteen.

She hurried through the crowds like a salmon against the stream. Many times she was jostled and shoved, making her wince, but she kept moving.

He was after her. She was sure of that.

God, he'd said when she told him that either the baby died or they both died.

She'd never… never expected that.

Not of good, loving, handsome Father Kheel.

She should have known his wickedness when the affair began. When she was asked to stay behind after choir practise.

When he touched her hair and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

When he kissed her hand.

Only now did she see all too clearly just what a devil he was.

And she could feel him after her.

He went away to Vienna, he said to resign, so that they could have a life together. She'd wished him luck before he left, and he swore to her that when he returned they would be married in all the splendour, under the eyes of god.

Only now she knew it was all a lie.

He was gone for nine months.

Nine, terrifying, hideous months.

Months when she became slowly aware of what was happening to her body. Slowly aware that there was something growing inside her.

She'd managed to keep it hidden, no-one questioned why she was wearing such thick, baggy clothes, not in the dead of winter.

But when she went to inform him… to tell him he would be a father…

She'd wanted him to be happy. She'd so wanted him to clutch her to him and whisper that everything would be good, and god would forgive her because they would be married.

Instead he took one look at her heavily rounded form and snapped that she would have the baby, and then kill it. Make certain no evidence existed.

She had screamed refusal.

And he had snarled that either the child would die, or he would make certain that she and it did.

She fled her hometown. And now she was moving through the crowds hoping to loose the follower.

But it was no good, she knew he was there. She could feel it. And worse still, she could feel a stabbing ache in her abdomen. The child was coming, and it was coming now.

It was getting so hard to run.

She spied a side-street, quieter than the others, and fled.

She kept walking, satisfied there was no-one behind her now.

She found god.

No, she found a Church. A beautiful old church, with the sound of christmas hymns floating through the old oak doors.

She made her way behind it and into the dark grass, crouched on the ground and let herself cry and push and groan like she desperately needed to.

Her baby was born in a hot, slippery rush.

It hurt. By all the gods it hurt.

She removed her jacket and wrapped it around the crying, red child.

His eyes were blue, and hair soft curls of blonde.

She kissed his head, and took off her rosary, tucking it into the bundle with him.

In the snow, one of the nuns found her.

They took her in but by then the cold and birth had all but taken her.

She was asked if she had a name for the thriving baby as she lay dying in the hospital.

She asked what the church was called where she was found.

The Church of Saint Michael, the doctors had replied.

She nodded and whispered that the boy's name was Miheal Kheel.

She died of frostbite and infection and countless other things that had just destroyed her will to be alive.

They could find no father.

They all whispered what a shame it was, that she had been so abandoned.

She did not think so, in her last moments.

She never for one moment believed god had abandoned her.


	39. Dreams

#39 Dreams

#39 Dreams

It was a quiet afternoon when Matt brought it up.

They were all in their usual places.

Mello sitting in the window seat, one leg dangling over the side, the other bent as he laid there, a bar of chocolate in his mouth, eyes on the grounds outside.

Near in his space in the middle of the room, laying flat on his stomach, doing a jigsaw puzzle.

Linda sitting against the wall, on a cushion, with her sketchpad resting against her knees while she scribbled.

L and A sitting on the sofa, B leaning with his back against it, all three of them doing their homework together, occasionally giggling about some joke or another only the big kids understood.

And Matt himself in his own corner, on a beanbag chair, gameboy bleeping out the mario theme chirpily, somehow not disturbing the others.

"Hey." He said suddenly. "What do you guys dream about doin when you leave this dump?"

As one the others had turned and stared. Not knowing whom he was addressing.

A cleared her throat. She always spoke first.

"I suppose I'd quite like to help people. I'm not sure how, but I'd like that… spending my life doing good things for someone else." She blushed, painfully shy, bless her dear heart. And due to her ginger hair and pale complexion, her blushes showed up all the more. "…Sorry, that sounded much less silly in my head."  
Beside her, L shook his head, leaning over and slipping an arm around her, ignoring the call from Mello that he was going to get cooties.

"Not at all, that's a very noble dream to want to pursue. A wise man once said that 'Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction.'" He leant a little closer and pecked her cheek.

On the floor, Bb giggled. "E.F. Schumacker." And then went back to his essay.

"All right, what about you L? You gonna go off and be a tennis pro?" Matt questioned.

L moved back into his usual sitting position, notebook resting on his bent knees. "I don't think so. I enjoy the sport but I don't really feel like spending the rest of my life chasing a little yellow ball." He tapped his bottom lip with a pen, considering.

Angel smirked, pushing her glasses to rest properly on the bridge of her nose as they slid down. "Haha, remember when we were little and you told Mr. Wammy you wanted to be Sherlock Holmes when you grew up?"

L laughed a little, "I remember." He lowered one foot to tap the back of B's head, "You said you wanted to be Moriaty."

B nodded, "Moriaty was the far more interesting of the two. And if we're digging up embarrassing memories, let us not forget Angel always said she'd be your Doctor Watson." His crimson eyes glinted with mirth.

L grinned back, "Sherlock would never have gotten any work done if Dr. Watson looked like Angel."  
The girl in question blushed once more, crying out, "L!! BB!! Don't talk about me like that!"

Behind them, on the window seat, Mello piped up; "I wanna be a gangster. I'm gonna run _all_ the cities in the world!" he held out his chocolate like an imaginary gun, "Bang! BANG!"  
Matt laughed, "What about you, Lindy?"  
Linda frowned at the nickname, hating that just because Matt and Mello were older they were allowed to get away with picking on her and Near, the little ones.

"Well my dream is being an artist." She mumbled. "I want my drawings to be hung next to the Mona Lisa and things, and people to say 'wow, Linda's the best artist ever!'"

Mello stuck out his tongue, "That's never gonna happen! You're still using crayons!"

Near mumbled something.

Mello scowled, "What was that?"  
The albino child sighed, "I said, it's as likely to happen as you being a gangster, Mello. At least Linda's is realistic."  
Mello growled and bit his chocolate, "Oh yeah? Well what do you wanna do with your stinking life? Go live in a toy factory?"  
Near shrugged, eyes fixed on his puzzle. "I haven't considered it."

L interrupted what was brewing to be a fight by turning the question onto Matt himself, "What do you dream about doing one day, Matt?"  
Matt blinked. His eyes flicked onto his gameboy screen.

He knew exactly what he'd do.

Exactly what Mello told him to. He'd probably end up as Mello's errand boy or something, but he didn't mind, they were best friends forever after all.

"I dunno, design games or become king of the internet." He replied nonchalantly. "You think we'll all get to do all of that?"  
Bb spoke up again.  
"…I doubt Angel will get hers. You and Mello might get to do yours. L will defiantly get his. Linda will too. But since Near doesn't have a dream, I suppose he won't."

The younger children shuddered. How could he make such an innocent question so creepy?  
L scowled down at his doppelganger, "BB, don't be mean. Anyway, you never told us what your dream is."  
B smirked. "You'll find out soon enough." And went back to work.


	40. Rated

#40 Rated

"I can understand Misa's anger at this, but she must please try and see why-"

"NO!" Misa snapped. "Misa misa refuses to turn down work just because her boyfriend tells her to!"

L's eyes narrowed. "…Would you have turned down work for _him_?"

Her face flushed. Then darkened. "Do we have to go back to this _every_ time?! Ok, I dated Light, Ok, I loved him for a while, but that's nothing to do with this!!"

L turned his chair back to the computer screen, "I believe it has everything to do with my relationship with Misa. Were it not for Light's crimes, we would never have met. Were it not for Misa's devotion to Light, she never would have been so distraught by the sight of him with that man."  
Misa swallowed, the awful, humiliating memory of seeing Light kissing that man, Mikami flooding her mind. "I…"

"And had that not happened, Misa would never have come crying to me, I would never have told her that even though Light did not love her, _I_ did. Misa would never have told me the truth of the Kira case, Misa would never have come back to England with me…"

She cut him off, realising that he would continue this line of reasoning if she did not. "But That doesn't have anything to do with why you won't let Misa take this acting role!! You promised I would still be allowed to pursue my career!" she stomped over to one of the plush armchairs in this, L's study.

L sighed. "I do not see why you insisted upon that, I am independently wealthy, this house and everything else I own is at your total disposal. I have even gone so far as to set it up that you will be taken care of if I die." He turned his chair away from the laptop screen again, "So why is Misa so determined to work in this particular tv series?"

She scowled, "Because it's supposed to be challenging and interesting!! I like my job, L! It'd be perfect for my debut as an actress in England! Why won't you let me take it? Do you think I'm not good enough?" she folded her arms, her scowl deepening. "Or am I just your little plaything?"

L returned her scowl, something he rarely did. "Do not speak of me like that, Misa has never been a plaything to me. And if she believes I am possessing her as an object, she should remember that I am just as much hers and she is mine." He reached to the neckline of his shirt and pulled out the fine gold chain, with the ring threaded around it. Normally hidden under his clothes.

Misa's anger faded slightly, her eyes flickering down to the matching gold ring on her hand.

Engagement rings. And he wore his around his neck because of the danger that would be presented to her if anyone knew L had a lover.

She sighed, "Misa knows…L and Misa belong completely to one another." She mumbled. "But… why don't you want me to take this job, L?"  
He shrugged his thin shoulders and moved to his coffee cup, making a disappointed face when he saw it was gone.

Misa got up and moved across the thickly carpeted floor, taking the mug from him, "Six sugars and cream, right?"

He nodded, eyes not leaving her as she wandered over to the coffee machine on a table across the room.

"Misa is very kind." He observed. "And she does not argue about the sugar dosage."

She smiled a little. "I figured that was futile." She replied, brushing her blonde hair back over one shoulder while she added the sugar cubes.

"I don't want you to do the series because of the rating."

She slipped, a little cream sloshed onto her hand. "Huh? The rating?"

L was staring at the computer again. "Watari pointed out to me that the series will be rated 18. I procured a copy of the script to see why."

Misa felt a blush flood her entire face. So L had seen the number of love scenes she would be asked to perform? He had read all those lines that she was frankly a little shy about saying? He knew the sexual acts she would have to simulate?

"I do not mind Misa's acting as such, on the contrary, I believe that if you did this series, it would be a guaranteed hit." He explained, not turning to look at her. "But I have no desire for other men to see Misa perform acts like… for example, scene 34." He coughed, and Misa wondered if he was embarrassed. "Even if it is only make-believe."

Misa smiled. She carried the cup back to him and placed it by his side, taking the chance to kiss his cheek and confirm to herself that yes, he was blushing.

"Misa understands… I wish you'd mentioned that at the start, then we wouldn't have had to have a silly argument."

L shifted in his chair, toes wriggling. "I will bear that in mind for the future. Will Misa please remember this? I don't want Misa doing anything on t.v. that should be a private act, and I certainly don't want you simulating things _we_ haven't even done."

Misa blinked, confused. "We haven't…?"

L blushed darker, "Scene 72, episode 8."

Misa's blush matched his. "Oh, _that._"

For a moment they were awkwardly silent.

Misa smirked wickedly, "We could try it, if you'd like."

His already wide eyes widened further.

She giggled. "L, you're so cute… Sometimes I feel like I'm a total pervert."

L brought his thumb to his lips, chewing the nail thoughtfully before replying, "Misa ought to come with a rating."

"Huh?"

"Adults only."


	41. Teamwork

#41 Teamwork

_I don't own the 'Science of Santa', it's been floating around the net for years, and as such, I can't find an original author, but doesn't it just seem like something these three would do? :)_

"I don't wanna." Mello snapped irritably.

"Tough." Was Roger's only reply, "You and Matt are directly responsible for knocking over the tree and breaking half the decorations, and I am almost certain you two were the ones who emptied the other children's advent calendars, so for your punishment, you will have to take part in the Christmas pageant, and you will have to do so with Near. Perhaps that will teach you to respect others."

Mello scowled.

But of course, he had to do as he was told, because being bad was a good way to get yourself dropped from second in line to succeed L to third.

The advent calendars weren't really his fault though. He'd just 'strongly suggested' Matt go fetch the chocolate for him. And Matt always did as he was told. That was all.

So now the three of them were sitting in a little circle on the floor of the library, abandoned now it was the holidays, trying to come up with something to do at the pageant.

"Ngh. Why the hell is this so hard?!" Mello snarled, "We're s'posed to be the best!"

Near sighed and twirled a strand of hair, "It is so difficult because Mello refuses to allow anything that may offend his religious ideals and Matt keeps coming up with stupid ideas that we are _not_ going to do."

Matt sulkily chewed the end of his pencil, "You're just mad because I wanted you to be the snowman."

Mello smirked a little.

Near sighed. "…It is apparent that while our talents are diverse, none of them are in the creative sphere. I propose that we instead try to focus on what we _can_ do."

Mello rolled his eyes, "What, make Christmas logical? Boy, you're just a bundle of fun, Near."

Matt blinked, "Wait a second… I think I see what he's getting at, Mells."

Mello scowled.

"Don't look at me like that, dude, just listen, I think I have an idea…"

XOXOXOX

It had all been going so well, Roger thought to himself. He was fairly certain it was all about to go horribly pear-shaped though. The nativity had been lovely, Linda made a very sweet Mary, and there had been a gaggle of girls who did a few songs, the usual bunch of things that got crammed into any school Christmas play.

But now it was _those_ three's turn.

He heard the sound of feet on floorboards beside him at the back of the dining hall and turned his head slightly.

L.

So he had made it home in time after all. Just in time to see his heirs as well.

There was silence in the packed room as Matt and Mello calmly walked out in their usual attire, pushing a chalk board borrowed from a classroom.

Near slouched on after them, carrying a pack of chalk. He handed this to Matt, and turned to look at the other children.

"No known species of reindeer can fly." He began, gesturing to Matt, who had quickly scribbled a cartoon reindeer onto the board.  
Mello coughed, "But there are roughly 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer which only Santa has ever seen."

Near nodded, "By our combined estimations, Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west. This works out to 822.6 visits per second."

Mello leant over to invade into the eyeline of anyone watching Near, "This is to say that for each Christian household with good children has 1/1000th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house." He smirked a little, counting off the tasks on his fingers.

Matt scraped the red chalk across the board and then swept a hand over it, creating a reddish blur and turning to the audience to say, "This is what he'd look like if we slowed him down a bit."

Near sighed. "Now, assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth, we are now talking about .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75½ million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us must do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding and etc."

Mello nodded, "All right, now this is where it gets a bit complicated, so listen carefully, cuz I ain't repeating myself. This means that Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest manmade vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second — a conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles per hour."

Matt's doodles became surrounded by numbers and arrows pointing to them, a strange scientific diagram. "Mello, I'm running out of number space."

"I'm not sure why this is my problem, visual aid boy." Mello snapped back.

Roger wondered if that was part of the show.

Near piped up once more. "The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized Lego set, the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that "flying reindeer" could pull TEN times their normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases the payload — not even counting the weight of the sleigh — to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison — this is four times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth."

Mello grinned sadistically, this was his own bit of calculations, "353,000 tons travelling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance — this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as a spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer with absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy. Per second. Each."

He bit a chunk from his chocolate bar and wickedly purred out, "In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporised within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force, reducing him to a quivering mound of pink goo."

Near nodded, "Meaning that if Santa did exist, he's dead now."

Matt turned around from his new drawing, one of a pink mound of goo with a Santa hat on. Many of the children were looking devastated.

He managed a small smile.

"Unless, of course, he's magic." He added.

The children burst out laughing, out of relief, mostly. Some clapped. At the back Roger mopped his forehead and wondered what he had done to deserve those three in his orphanage. Beside him L giggled.

"They make a good team." He commented.


	42. Standing Still

#42 Standing still.

Pawn. Rook. Bishop. King. Queen.

Click. Click. Click.

Watching them play was like watching art.

Hands never hesitating to move a piece. Thinking faster than each other with every move.

It was almost frightening.

"Light-kun should be proud of himself, only Watari has ever been able to best me. If he keeps up, perhaps one day he shall defeat me."

Click.

Light's eyes flicker rage for a second, because he recognises the underlying smirk in L's words. Really, the compliment was an insult. It was his way of saying 'Light _still_ can't beat me.'

Click.

"Light-kun is getting restless."

Light frowned, "Just play, Ryuzaki."

L nodded.

Click.

"Such a wonderful metaphor of life, isn't it?" he asked suddenly. "Everyone is born into a station, to an extent. With powers and responsibilities of rank."

Click.

"Your metaphor falls down when you consider the theory that anyone can become anything with effort and talent." Light commented.

Click.

"I generally subscribe to the theory of Marx, that we are put into slots by economic status." L replied.

Click.

"Then what of you?" Light responded evenly. "You told me once you're an orphan, generally speaking, not a privileged beginning, but now you're independently wealthy." His eyes flickered, "Due in part to your natural intelligence."

Click.

L smiled faintly. "Who ever said that being an orphan is an unprivileged position?"

"It's traditionally not seen as advantaged."

L chuckled, "Tell me Light-kun, when you imagine me as an orphan, am I surrounded by the entire cast of 'Oliver Twist'?"

Click.

Light smirked back. "Point made, I'm relying on stereotyping. But even so, I hardly think that not having a mother or a father put you in a good 'slot' according to Charles Marx."

Click.

L sighed, "No, I suppose it wouldn't. But my parents were fairly well-off. And while I did have two brothers, one died only a year after them, and the other was deemed to be insane, so I ended up the only heir to their entire fortune."

Click.

Light blinked. "You never mentioned brothers."

L shrugged, "How often do you mention your sister?" he sighed. "I do not like talking about them."

Click.

L sighed, "Ultimately, I suppose I have won at the game of life. I am wealthy, I have Watari, I am far above average intelligence and I am reasonably healthy, all things considered." He sipped his coffee. "However."

His onyx eyes locked with Lights.

"I would happily give that up, to have a family like Light-kun's. To have someone love me like Misa loves you. To be able to have a normal life."

Click.

Light almost felt pity raise in his heart. It'd been a rough life that made this man before him. "Ironic, isn't it, that I would give what I have to be L in an instant?"

Click.

L nodded, "I suppose that is human nature. To want the precise thing that we cannot have." His hand hovered over a chess piece. "In the end, it's not about attack or defence, is it? The only real way to win…"

Thunk.

L flicked his king onto its side.

"…Is to stand still, take what is given, and let that be enough."

Light stared at the fallen king.

Damn him. Forfeiting before losing. Walking away.

Standing still.


	43. Dying

#43 Dying

"Huuuungry."

The whine was ignored.

"I'm Hungry!"

Light let out a yawn and stretched his arms, shoulders clicking in protest.

"Give me a damn apple!!"

Light sighed. "Ryuk, you've had your apple for the day, you know that."

The shinigami scowled. He did not like the way this human had so easily turned him into a pet.

"If you told me L's real name I'd get you another apple for the day." Light said calmly, as though he believed even for a second that this would work. He'd learned long ago that Ryuk was either stronger-willed than that, or frightened enough of the punishment for breaking the rules that he wouldn't do such a thing.

Ryuk stuck out his tongue, "Can't do that."

Light smirked, "I guess that means no apple then."

Ryuk groaned, "But I'm _dying_ for one!! I'll get all twisted up and upside down and then I'll die!"

"You can't die unless you fall in love with a human and extend their life." Light answered back, eyes not leaving the computer screen, his voice a monotone.

Ryuk whimpered like a kicked puppy and floated onto the student's bed, sulkily shoving the pillow onto the floor.

"Pick that back up."

His bony grey hand was half-way to the pillow before it occurred to the shinigami that the human had _trained_ him.

Over the months they'd been together the boy had slowly and carefully trained him into doing whatever he was told, using apples as the incentive.

He was now, in the boy's eyes, little more than an irritating, but obedient, oversized puppy.

And he didn't like that one bit.

"Heh. You know, Raito, I could write your name down in my book if you don't get me an apple."

Light barely moved. "Yes, but you won't."

"What makes you so sure?"

Light turned his head and smirked a little, "Because then no-one would be here to give you apples. And the world would be a whole lot more boring."

Ryuk scowled.

Light's smirk softened into a smile. "Sorry, It must just kill you inside, the fact that I've turned you into a pet. I know how much it annoys me to have my pride dented."

This was a switch. Light never usually spoke to Ryuk with anything other than superiority.

"It's just that this is the way I treat my friends." Light continued, "I know it's a bad thing to do but I'm so used to being better than everyone that I treat them like animals, make them do things for me." He sighed. "I'm a bit twisted, huh?"

Ryuk giggled. "You're a _lot_ twisted."

Light let out a little laugh, "Point taken. But really, you should know I don't mean to be such a dick. Especially not to you."

Ryuk tilted his head. "Whaddya mean Raito?"

Light turned back to his computer, "I think, of all the people in the world, you understand me best. I think you're my best friend."

Ryuk's mouth dropped open. "We're… friends?"

Light nodded, "Well, we were both bored and powerless, weren't we? Only by coming together have we made a difference to our lives." He smiled, warmly this time, "So yes, I think we're friends."

Ryuk's toothy grin spead across his face. "So can I have an apple?!"

"No."

Ryuk groaned in frustration, and threw himself full-force back onto the bed.

"I'm dyyyying." He whined.

"Shut up."


	44. Two Roads

#44 Two roads

If anyone ever found out about them, and then asked her, she wouldn't know what to say.

'Which one do you love more?'

Once upon a time she would have blurted out 'Light-kun!' without hesitation.

And after Light had told her to stop bothering her, she would have happily cooed out 'Ryuzaki-san' while shooting a cruel look at Light.

But the bottom line was that she could never pick between them.

Light was conventionally handsome, bright and a charmer. He could take her out to theme parks and dancing and to beaches and she would feel like a helplessly happy teen girl, just how she looked.

Ryuzaki was dark and deep, and looked messy even when he'd made an effort to tidy himself. He wouldn't take her out, but he'd happily stay in with her, watching movies, reading, and trying to teach her chess. He had the patience of a saint when it came to her. He could make her feel like a _lady_.

How ironic then, that she considered Light to be the darker of the two. Light was darkness and temptation; Ryuzaki was goodness and calm.

She let out a low sigh.

"Something is troubling Misa?"

"You okay, Misa?"

She smiled faintly.

They were sitting so comfortably, in her room. The cameras, she had been assured the moment her boyfriends entered, were off.

After the debauchery that had taken place, none of the three had bothered to dress fully. L was on her sofa, laying full-length, in his baggy jeans only. Light was on the floor, leaning against the sofa, head resting on one of L's bent knees. He was in his boxer shorts.

Misa herself was also on the floor, her head tilted back on L's stomach, using him as a cushion. She almost smiled at her own clothing. Her black lace underwear and Ryuzaki's discarded with shirt, pulled on over the erotic lace.

It was showing through the thin cotton, but she didn't care, it was soft and warm and smelled of strawberries, and Light wouldn't lend her his clothes.

"Misa was wondering which boyfriend she loves the most." She confessed.

Light snorted, "Oh, you'll hurt Ryuzaki's feelings." He commented, leaning over and pecking her cheek.

L frowned a little, "What makes Light-kun so sure she would pick him?"

Light shrugged calmly, "Well come on, Ryuzaki, look at me, then look at you."

L's brow knitted with annoyance. "It is now 40 percent. And Misa-chan has said before that I'm _cute_." He lowered one hand to pet the girl's long blonde hair. "Besides, I'm nicer to Misa."

Misa giggled and blushed a little, they always argued like this, and she had to admit it was very funny at times. "Well…"

Light's caramel eyes widened. "Hey! I'm nice to her!"

L smirked. "Light-kun doesn't let her hug him after we sleep together."

Misa nodded.

That was another unexpected thing she'd discovered. Light seemed to dislike contact unless it was leading somewhere more heated, whereas Ryuzaki, after a tense moment or two, welcomed hugs and kisses that were just given out of kindness, not heat.

"That's because we're always sweaty and gross!!" the student snapped. "Anyway, _you_ don't take her out as much as I do!"

"I still spend about 60 percent more time with her than Light-kun."

Misa sighed, drifting out of the argument and daydreaming.

If anyone ever found out, and circumstances forced her to choose…

Who would she choose?

Of course, she owed Light so very, very much…

But Ryuzaki was so much more than he appeared to be.

Oh, she knew the answer really; she loved them both equally, for different things. Between them they were the perfect boyfriend in two parts.

But choose?

She couldn't choose.

She could never, ever decide between them.

When she was with Light, she ached for Ryuzaki, when she was with the dark-haired man, her heart cried out for Light.

She frowned to herself, and they noticed at once.

"…Don't get upset, Misa, you know we don't mean it." Light said comfortingly, patting her arm.

Misa shook her head, "No, it's all right, Misa doesn't mind you fighting, it's only silly anyway." She sighed, "The thing is that Misa can't possibly decide. Misa loves both her boyfriends very much." She looked up at them both, her blue eyes shimmering.

The reaction was, as always, instant.

Arms curled around her from the sides, tan and porcelain.

"Mmm…" she purred, taking in their twin scents, strawberries and sugar, ink and cologne.

"This isn't a multiple-choice question, Misa." Light muttered faintly, his face in her hair.

"Indeed. Misa can have her cake and eat it too, so to speak." His voice was muffled from his burying of his face in her shoulder.

She giggled. "Ok… Misa won't worry anymore."

That night, though, when she slept between their bodies, she dreamt.

She dreamt of being at a cross-road, and on either road, stood either man.

One road lead to darkness.

The other lead to light.

And when they offered their hands, she simply couldn't choose.


	45. Illusion

#45 Illusion

Why do you still follow me?

Why did you even start?

I stomped over to you and took your stupid little game. Told you to come and play with me because I was bored.

You never argued.

You never have.

You didn't argue the day I called you up, and said firmly, 'Come to New York.'

Even though, as I found out much later, at the time, you were dating Linda.

But that never meant anything, did it?

Oh sure, you sought solace in her, and you came together because you missed me, and she missed Near. Simple as that.

But you told me yourself, one night in bed, basking in afterglow, that I was the only one who ever really made you feel anything. There couldn't ever be anyone else.

I couldn't tell if you were being your stupid, sweet self or just flattering me in hopes of another round.

Why don't you ever fight back when I smack you around for things that are mostly my own fault? Or when I'm really mad at Near? Or when I'm just frustrated and you're angry?

Is it because you know?

You know that it's not real.

Mello isn't a real person, strutting around in his leather clothes, gun in one hand and chocolate in the other. Being gorgeous and knowing it, making the whole world his bitch, acting as though everything around him is just an inconvenient fog.

He's not a real human being.

You've seen what's real.

You've seen Miheal Kheel.

You've seen me praying quietly before I sleep, and told me kindly that you're sure god forgives all my sins, and the sins I commit with you are sins o love, and who can call that evil?

You've seen me crying to myself when it all gets to be too much, and hugged me and told me that no matter what everyone else thinks, I'm always number one to you.

You've seen me in utter agony, and tended to the wound that left me scarred. If you hadn't, it would have been so much worse.

You've discovered I actually _like_ being cuddled, I just have to pretend I don't.

Damn you.

Damn you to hell for finding out all these things that make what I am an illusion. Damn you for discovering that 'Mello' isn't really real.

But bless you; bless you with every angel in heaven for never revealing it.

For always playing along and never letting on the truth.

For smiling through the punches I have to give you to keep up the image.

For saying you'll love me always, no matter what I do.

For never arguing.

For keeping my illusion going.

For being my sidekick.

For being Matt.


	46. Family

#46 Family

I was a father at twenty.

To three boys, if you must know.

Matt was my first, oddly enough, given that otherwise he is third.

I can remember the day it happened. We were all four out in the grounds of the house, playing together, I can't remember what, but the game somehow seemed to revolve around tackling me to the ground and trying to pin me there.

I remember Matt was sitting on my chest, goggles around his neck, laughing adorably while Near and Mello continued to pull at my arms.

And then we saw a car pulling up to the gates of Wammy's house.

And a nasty-looking man in his forties stepped out of it and started walking up the drive to the house.

And he stopped halfway when he saw us.

No, not _us,_ Matt.

And I saw the traces of red in his greying hair and without really knowing why, gripped Matt a little tighter. He let out a tiny whimper.

For a moment we thought the man was going to come over, but then he seemed to change his mind and continued into the building.

"Matt?" Mello squeaked, "L, what's wrong?"

I shook my head, not knowing.

Matt swallowed and squeaked, "That was my dad… that… he's supposed to be in jail!!" he gripped my shirt as I sat up, clinging like a baby monkey, "L! They _promised_ he'd never be allowed near me again!"

I patted his back and nodded. I knew all their stories, and Matt's was the worst.

Poor little boy was abused, and only got taken away when his father broke his arm. The trauma of it haunted him for years, giving him nightmares of the man who sired him coming to take him away from the one place he felt safe.

Only years of reassurances from myself broke the nightmares. Years of telling him that if anyone ever wanted to hurt him, they'd have to go through Watari, Roger, me, and probably Mello before they got Matt.

"Don't worry." I whispered. "I'm sure it's nothing to be scared of."

Matt didn't look like he believed me. He looked like he was going to burst into tears. I hadn't seen him like that for such a long time.

"Shh now…" I reassured, "You know I'd never let anything happen to you three."

Mello nodded and hugged Matt as best he could while the boy was still clinging to me. "Yeah! L protects us!"

Near looked at me with his large maroon eyes and said softly, "There is a 75 chance that Matt's father is here to take him back."

Near was always astonishingly intelligent like that.

I was called to Wammy's office later that afternoon.

Wammy told me calmly that Matt's father had mad parole, convincing the officials that the arm-breaking was an accident. He was here to take Matt home.

"You can't let him go."

My carer nodded and stood up, "Of course, L, I know that if we allow Matt to go with his father the boy may well be killed. But my hands are tied, unless we can prove that Matt has been adopted and is legally someone else's son, I shall have to release him to his father's care."

I thought about this for a moment or two, then said calmly, "Then there is only one logical course of action to take, Wammy, will you please bring me the adoption forms?"

He blinked at me owlishly. "L? You mean…?"

"I intend to keep my promise to make certain he is safe."

We put the process through as fast as possible, and Matt's father was furious, but there was nothing he could do.

I didn't tell Matt.

I didn't tell Mello or Near either when I adopted them, because I had to make sure my three boys were safe.

But of course, my boys are genius', and want to be detectives, and Matt is extremely good at hacking into any system.

So one day when I was sitting working in my room, the door opened and I felt three pairs of eyes on me.

The soft padding of three pairs of feet across the wooden floor, and then Mello and Near on my lap, and Matt hugging me around the neck from behind.

"What brought this on?" I asked, as if I had no idea.

Mello made a happy noise into my shirt and cooed out, "What, kids need an excuse to hug their _dad_?"

I sighed, "I have asked you before not to hack into the computers."

"When has that stopped us, _dad_?" Matt asked, face nuzzling my hair.

I sighed deeply, "Will you please not call me that?"

Near giggled and chirped out, "_Daddy_?"

I winced, "All right, you have had your little joke. Yes, technically speaking I'm your adopted father, but, and I want to make this very clear, I do not wish to be referred to as such."

And my boys all laughed and agreed to this, though to this day if they want something from me they tease me and call me dad.

I'm a father to three boys.

_Hi readers! I'm appealing for ideas again, the next title is 'Creation' and I'm totally tapped out of ideas! Plz send me suggestions :)_


	47. Creation

#47 Creation

_Just a short one, apologies :)_

Everyone does it.

Makes up a persona for their public lives, it's a defence mechanism, because the awful truth of life is that it's only the ones we love, who know us truly, who have the power to wound us.

So we are someone else in public.

Light Yagami, the pride of his school, the bright spot of his home, the very best example of what Japan's educational system had to offer. A boy who would never dream of genuinely killing anyone, even the wicked.

And the real was Kira, a mass-murderer. A ruthless killer who destroyed all who opposed him with ice-cruelty and evil laughter.

Misa Amane was Misa-misa, the happy-go-lucky pop idol with endless energy and boundless joy for anyone and everyone who ever met her. Misa-misa was perky and delightful, and no-one would ever have guessed from looking at her that she lost her family in such a tragic turn of events.

Misa Amane, on the other hand… she was a very lonely girl. She wore black in constant mourning, she went home and cried herself to sleep simply because she missed her family so very much. She was a girl who wanted only for _someone_ to hug her and say they loved her.

Liam Lawliet was L.

L was a detective, a man with intense intelligence and firey determination to bring justice upon those who disobeyed the law, who was socially awkward and frightening in his brilliance. Who hated loosing, and rarely had to know what it felt like. Less a man than an overgrown child.

Liam, on the other hand, was buried down underneath all that. A boy who had seen his mother killed before his eyes. Left with overall dread that forced him to retreat into his own shell, afraid of humanity and of his own emotions. Forcing people away because he couldn't understand that what he really needed was the warmth of another human being just to prove that there were things other than monsters in the world.

Everyone does it.

Creates another self to live through. Because the world is a hard place to live with your heart on your sleeve.

The problem arises when the creation takes over. Becomes more real than the actual.

When Kira takes over Light, and crushes him. When Misa-misa overwhelms Misa Amane, and cuts what's left of her true heart in two. When L's brilliance simply washes over and glosses Liam into nothing.

When the creation is also the destroyer.


	48. Childhood

#48 Childhood

A closer examination, as L would have said, could reveal many unnoticed things.

Things you didn't see as important once suddenly flicker like fireworks with their warning signs of what was to come.

Like Light Yagami's third birthday, when all his friends had come over for the party, and he was running and jumping and enjoying being a child, until he realised his father wasn't there.

When he asked his pregnant mother where 'daddy' was, she mumbled quietly that she didn't think he would be coming, and went back to cutting the birthday cake.

Like the day Sayu was born, and Light stood staring at the little pink lump that was apparently his sister, and for a laugh, suggested they call her Dark.

His father, over-worked and worried for his wife, had replied, "Don't be stupid, Light."

That had stung, because even at that age, Light knew he wasn't stupid.

Like Light Yagami's first day of school, when he'd happily ran into the school yard and played until they were called in, and the teacher began asking questions, presumably to test their abilities.

As she moved along the row she asked the children to either spell simple words or do a easy sum. She got to Light and asked, "If there are five birds on a fence and a hunter shoots two, how many are left?"

Light had smiled and replied 'None'.

The class had laughed. The teacher had laughed. And Light, not being able to articulate that if a gun fired, _All_ the birds would fly away, was humiliated.

Like the day when he was eight, after a maths test in which he had got every answer correct, and the teacher had told everyone in the class that Light was probably the cleverest boy there.

And on his little walk home three other boys pushed him down and beat him up. Punished him for being smart.

He had stumbled home with a bloody nose. His mother had asked what happened and he mumbled quietly that he fell over.

She told him off for being so clumsy and messing his uniform.

Like when he was twelve and a girl asked him out. A pretty girl. The prettiest one in the class, really.

And he'd said 'No thanks'.

And the girls in class spread their ugly little rumours about his sexuality.

And those grew, with him unaware of them until he was fourteen. When he was on a date with one girl who had ignored the rumours in favour of the handsome boy. And she asked why he didn't date anyone in the class.

And he'd replied casually, "I don't really like girls very much."

He'd meant that he didn't like their giggling. Their incessant preening. Their sneakiness and lack of conversations.

By the time the word got back to him about the rumours, he was being called 'I'm a gay', a hideous parody of his name.

And he was being beaten up. And the girls were all laughing at him.

And the only thing he could do was stick it out until finally his mother noticed the bruises and he was sent to a public school.

Like the endless times be brought the results of his tests home, knowing in his heart that only his mother and sister would show any interest in his brilliance.

It's hard to keep trying to be brilliant when you know someone you respect more than anything won't particularly care.

And the final nail in the coffin lid, the last thing that sealed the plain, bony fact that 'Light Yagami is Kira', was the realisation.

Sitting in his office chair, watching L reason and deduce things, typing away at his computer, Light realised with a flush of embarrassment that perhaps those teasing rumours hadn't been entirely wrong, or maybe it was just because this was _L_, the only person Light had ever seen as an equal.

Either way, after looking around to be sure the task force was elsewhere, he leant over and planted a chaste kiss against the detective's cheek.

And L had turned his head like clockwork, staring at the boy, and said very calmly, "Light-kun will please refrain from doing that."

"You don't like it?"

"No, it's just that Light-kun is still a child."


	49. Stripes

#49 Stripes

Why stripes?

When he grew weary and bored of the Kira case, Mello tried to break down Matt into understandable pieces.

Mello could understand everything else about Matt, but why the stripes?

The goggles, he knew for a fact, were in fact, glasses. Matt's eyes were in terrible shape after years of gaming. As a child he'd always had a huge round pair of lenses in front of his eyes, and he got teased for them a lot.

The goggles suited him better.

And how thin the boy had got, well that was just growing up working its magic. Ok Matt had always been the slightly chubby kid at Wammy's, despite being one of the few who ate healthy food. Then puberty hit and all that puppy-fat flattened out and toned itself.

Mello suspected the red-haired boy probably ended up working out a little bit too, because he'd always been teased for being fat too. It wouldn't have surprised him to learn that Matt knew a martial art of some sort, since that was the traditional way to send the bullies running.

The over-red hair, he knew, wasn't entirely natural. Yes, Matt did have a crop of deep crimson hair anyway, but in his teens he took to dying it into the cherry colour it was now. That was just because Matt liked the colour red, to the extent that he honestly believed red paint made cars go faster and red dye made food taste better.

The smoking was frankly, expected. Matt had always been orally fixated as a kid, always chewing a pen or pencil, sucking his thumb when he thought no-one was watching. The cigs were just the adult way of feeding the need to have something in his mouth all the time.

But why the stripes?

That was always the thing Mello drew a blank at. He even considered asking Near about them, but realised that the albino boy probably didn't even remember Matt existed.

Matt always wore stripes. On his obviously garish shirts and more subtly on his weird jeans. Mello had never understood it.

He racked his brains trying to remember if any of Matt's favourite game series features striped characters. None leapt to mind.

Finally, he asked.

"Matt, why the hell are you always in stripes? You look like the Hamburgler!"

Matt had glanced up from his game, eyes flickering innocently. "I'd be very careful about opening the fashion victim gate, Mello. I've got a lot of ammo saved up about you and your spray-on pants."

Mello felt his face flush red, "You shut up, I look hot. You look like you ought to have a sack with 'swag' on it over your shoulder."

Matt rolled his eyes, "Is there any reason for this interrogation or do you just want to keep pissing me off until you remember I buy your chocolate?"

Mello's mouth snapped shut.

That was another chunk of him. His position as third.

He didn't fit the mould at all. L's other heirs, all of them, for there had been many, all seemed to have severe social problems, and spent most of their lives studying.

Matt was about the sweetest, friendliest kid at Wammys, always ready to tell a joke and cheer everyone up. He never studied for a test in his life.

It was a horrible thought, but Mello had a suspicion that if Matt really, _really_ applied himself to becoming L, he could have beaten Mello and Near years ago.

But that was it, wasn't it? Matt had never ever wanted to be L. He'd just shrugged when the man told him that he was third.

"Come on… why stripes?" Mello persisted.

Matt rolled his eyes, "Why leather?"

"…I just like leather." Mello mumbled. Then his mind raced, wanting to find more reasons, to oblige Matt to do the same. "And… it's a mafia thing, and it's easy to hide in dark corners, and it makes me look hot, and…"

Matt smirked. "Ok, ok, you made your point." He paused his little game system and placed it on the floor. "The stripes mean I can hide really easy, like a tiger, yanno?"

Mello frowned. "…What? How the _hell_ can you-"

"I'm serious!" Matt protested cheerfully, "Come on, lets go down to the park, You sit on a bench and I'll go hide in the grass, and we'll see if you notice me before I run out and tackle you!"

There was a pause.

A pause that made Matt believe, just for a second, that he was going to spend the next half-hour down in the park near their apartment having quite simply the _best_ of times by leaving Mello on a bench while he wandered off somewhere.

And then the old 'Mello anger face' was back.

And he was whacked around the head with a chocolate bar.

"Fine, don't tell me then. I don't even care why you want to dress like a tiger."

Matt grinned and bolted upwards, cat-like reflexes after years of gaming working their magic.

Mello was pinned like helpless prey.

Matt let out a little growl. "What if I said it's just to see if you'd call me Tiger?"


	50. Breaking the Rules

#50, Breaking the rules

You like being hugged far too much. It can't be normal for your kind, to want to be held by a human all the time. And you're not built for cuddling, too big and boney. I end up with bruises.

But I suppose I owe it to you, because it's my fault for seducing you in the first place. My fault that every night after we make love you are forced to feel torment as punishment for breaking the rules.

So I'll hug you through it. Just so you know I appreciate it.

And maybe you think I'm worth it.

Do you remember the first time?

Probably not, I doubt you'd be that sentimental.

I do though, and I'm not one for remembering pointless anniversaries.

Then again, I suppose everyone remembers how they lost their virginity, it's one of those things humans never forget, like the day they were told Santa isn't real, or the day they learned to ride a bike. Simple, pointless and precious.

You were sulking with me, weren't you? Because of some snide comment or maybe I forgot your daily apple or maybe I was just in a bad mood and taking it out on you.

Whatever the cause, you were sulking, sitting on the roof of my house above my bedroom, a gargoyle only I could see.

I remember deciding to mess with you, because damnnit, I'm an evil little shit when I want to be. And I was curious to see what the punishments for breaking the rules were like.

So I called you in.

And you floated through the ceiling and stopped dead, no pun intended.

I had my shirt off, sitting at my desk and pretending to work diligently. I turned to face you in my chair, "Hello Ryukie."

You pulled a face. I'm not sure even now if you like that pet name or not. I keep calling you it anyway.

"Light, why are you shirtless?"

I shrugged smoothly, making up some excuse on the spur of the moment, as I am getting very good at doing. Then I picked up the apple on my desk.

Your favourite kind, ruby-red like blood, pure and crisp and virginal white inside.

You drooled.

And because I am a merciless scumbag, I bit into the fruit.

Your face was such a delightful mix of anger and anguish.

"Want your apple, Ryukie?" I teased. "Come and get it."

Sometimes I pretend to myself that what happened next would have happened eventually anyway, but I don't know who I'm kidding, you dove at me and kissed me for the apple. When I pressed the fruit to my chest and spread juices across my skin, you licked me clean for the damn apple, not because it was me.

I don't get why I feel like this about you. Maybe because you really are the only thing in the whole world who really understands what it's like to be bored, unhappy, and powerless to do anything.

When we joined, we gave each other power. Though it has it's limits in the rules, we can bend them to suit ourselves.

But you only break them for me.

Punishment for messing around with a human is an hour of agony. You lay on the bed and writhe and whimper and whine and even cry sometimes.

So why do you still, every night, climb into my bed with me and screw me like you do?

That's not the right word. Too animalistic for what we do. It's a delicate operation, what with humans being fairly frail, and shinigami being bigger than us.

It's note quite love though.

I stand by what I said, I can't see you ever falling in love with a human. And I'm not sure my feelings run that deep.

More than Lust, less than love.

Whatever it is, whatever the word is, it's enough for you to put up with the pain.

And because you do, I'll hug you through it. I'll press my weak little human form to your leathery skin, because for whatever reason, you keep coming to me, and the least I can do is hold you until the pain stops.

What an appropriate pair.

Kira and shinigami.

No.

When we lie together on my bed, it's never about being Kira. It's only about being with you.

Raito and Ryukie.

_WOO! Halfway there! Halfway there, people! 8D  
Umm... I know it takes a bit of effort to think of something to say, but reviews are very much appreciated, even if they're only a few words. :)  
Also, if any of you happen to be artists and end up doodling something out of inspiration from any of these drabbles, please send me a message, I love doodles 8)_


	51. Sport

#51 Sport

Mello couldn't stop the grin on his face.

L was home, in between cases, and for once he didn't just want to be left alone. He wanted to go out and play tennis in the summer sunshine.

And he'd asked Mello to come and play.

Mello, as in, _Not _Near.

He was practically _skipping_ towards the courts, in his gym costume, makeshift tennis whites. One of L's old rackets in his hands.

It felt so good and natural in his hand.

In his mind he imagined himself as young king Arthur, drawing the sword from the stone and claiming the kingdom for his own. The situation wasn't totally dissimilar after all, he was holding L's racket, and he really could be the next L.

L himself was resplendent. He'd changed into his own proper tennis uniform, tailored perfectly, right down to the 'L' symbol on his chest, one hand with his racket in it swinging casually at his side, the other tossing a single yellow ball up and down in the air.

"How many sets, L?"

L shrugged, "As many as Mello thinks he can deal with."

Mello, ever determined to impress, chirped out, "Five!" A little daring crept into his childish soul and he added, "And if I win any of the sets, you have to buy me a big box of chocolate!"

L smirked, "And what if you loose all of them, Mello? What forfeit will you do?"

Mello watched the yellow ball rise and fall, landing in L's palm with a small thud.

"I… I'll work with Near and never complain about it again!" the blonde choir boy declared, regretting his overconfidence instantly.

L grinned and nodded, opening the gate of the fence around the court and stepping onto the green turf.

Mello gulped.

Chill out, you only have to win one set, right? And it's been years since he played professionally, and I don't exactly suck at this…

The ball was a blur of yellow that flew past him, making him yelp and leap away for fear of a painful impact.

L called from across the court, "Fifteen-love!"

Mello felt the colour draining from his face.

Three sets down and he was drenched in sweat, gasping for air and starting to wish he'd never agreed to this in the first place.

"Need some water?"

He glanced up at the voice and frowned. Matt.

Matt _always _followed him everywhere. And now he was offering a bottle of water. How did he always know what Mello needed?

"Yeah…" Mello gasped out, taking it and gratefully gulping down most of the contents. "How am I looking out there, Matty?"

Matt tried to smile winningly, it looked nervous. "In all honesty, Mells, its like watching a kitten fight a lion."

"I'm not that bad!!" Mello snapped. "it's just that he moves so fast! How the hell am I supposed to-"

"You girls going to keep talking or are we going to play?" L called.

It was amazing how _normal_ and mocking he could be when his competitiveness took over.

Mello felt rage flicker in him. Even if it was L, _no-one_ called him a girl and got away with it.

He spun around, throwing the empty bottle to the turf, "Bring it addict!" he snarled, storming back to his place.

The ball 'thwoked' back and fourth over the net, rocketing so fast it became a yellow blur.

And then…

Mello screamed as the yellow missile slammed into his wrist, and dropped the racket, falling on his bare knees and clutching the injured appendage.

In seconds L and Matt were either side of him, looking the bruise over.

L sighed, "Nothing too badly damaged, but I don't think Mello will be able to play anymore… therefore the match goes to me-"

Mello whimpered.

Matt grabbed the racket on the turf, "No it doesn't! I'll play the last set."

Mello whimpered harder. God, insult to injury much? How on earth could Matt hope to win when he hated sports, skipped gym classes and barely left his room? This was going to be so embarrassing it'd make him sick.

"All right, if that's what Matt wants." L agreed, walking back towards his side.

Mello groaned, "Matty, don't do this…"

Matt shook his head, "Can't let that prick get away with hurting you, Mells." He replied with a wink. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

Mello smacked his head with his good hand, unable to watch.

"Sudden death?" Matt's happy voice called.

"Fine with me." L's reply sailed back.

Mello kept his eyes closed as he heard the first 'thwock' of L's serve.

Thwock.

Thwock.

Thwock.

His eyes opened slightly.

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he never would have believed it, but Matt was returning the ball every time. What was more, he was sending the thing spinning to opposite ends of the court each time, forcing L to run for it.

Thwock.

Thwock.

And then, the wonderful, melodious sound of the ball hitting the fence, making it rattle.

And L panting, bent over with his hands on his bare knees. He called, "Well done, Matt is an excellent player."

Mello raced across the turf and threw his arms around the gamer's neck, not caring at the twinge of pain from the hurt one. "How the _hell_ did you do that?!"

Matt smiled sheepishly. He could have explained that he played a lot of wii sports, and the principle was the same, and that his hand-eye co-ordination was second to none. But as it was he just enjoyed the rare hug.


	52. Deep in Thought

#52 Deep in thought

I don't remember the last time my mind was empty.

Since I was a child it's always been filled with questions. Endless, endless questions. And the strange thing was I knew most of the answers.

After all, it's just about thinking carefully. The answer is usually in the question.

Not to be smug, but I suspect that if I had enough time to think about it I could work out the meaning of life. The answer has to be in the question somewhere.

I'm always thinking. It can get tiring at times, especially since I suffer insomnia. Every time I attempt to nod off another question leaps into my mind.

I've been told many people experience moments like that. Horrible, gut-wrenching moments, when one suddenly realises that I don't know how long I have to live, or what will happen when I die.

I deeply admire people like Mello, who can put so much faith in their beliefs. Who can confidently say that they will go to either heaven or hell when their number is up.

But I have trouble believing in anything unproven.

The idea that there is more about the universe we live in that we don't understand than there is known scares the hell out of me.

Sometimes I long to loose my intelligence. Watari often tells me, after yet another sleepless night, that my problem is that I'm too bright for my own good.

To an extent, he's correct.

I wish I could be of a normal, average intelligence, because then I could push away those thoughts and just go through my life normally. Meet someone else normal, fall in love, marry, have children. All those wonderful things that the masses seem to take for granted.

It has got better, I admit, with Light and Misa. Light, of course, could never ever be called average, and there's something about him that's just a little bit wicked, but all the same, he has the chance for a simple life, and seems willing to share.

And dear, sweet Misa.

How could anyone as cheerful as her have been through what she has? She's a lot stronger than she's given credit for, she's seen her parents die, been possessed by Kira, and been arrested, and yet she somehow manages to get up every morning with a smile on her face.

I once asked Watari how you know when you've fallen in love.

He laughed at me and said 'My boy, if I could tell you that, there'd be nothing in the world left to learn. It's an entirely different experience for everyone in the world, but general consensus is that love is crawling if you couldn't walk, caring about someone else more than yourself, asking for help despite pride.' He patted my shoulder. 'Bluntly, L, when you fall in love, you just _know_.'

I didn't understand any of that at all. I couldn't comprehend the idea of a temporary madness that caused human beings the world over to act like total idiots in pursuit of another.

And then…

Then it happened, and I'm not sure when or how or why, but I fell in love.

A detective in love with a suspect, how cliché.

I have tried and failed to rationalise this emotion.

I have had very few dealings with emotions anyway, but I can't even grasp this one with dictionary definitions, because there are none precise enough.

All I can do is sit and stare at computer screens and think about the simple word over and over.

Love.

Love is crawling if you couldn't walk, caring about someone else more than oneself, asking for help, despite pride.

So many great stories and songs have been written for the emotion.

But no-one has ever properly explained it.

The universe is one big mystery, and Love is an even bigger one.

And…

"Ryuzaki?"

I feel myself jump slightly, and my cheeks flush red, I hate being caught daydreaming.

My love…

Looking upon me with concern.

I feel warm in my chest.

And I _know._

"Are you okay, Ryuzaki?"

I manage a weak smile.

"Yes. I was just thinking."


	53. Keeping a Secret

#53 Keeping a secret

Secrets are hard to keep to yourself when you live in an orphanage full of children who want to be detectives.

She ached for the time before secrets, happy childhood when playing with him wasn't strange. Now they were entering their teens, spending any time at all with him made her face flush and her knees weak.

She knew very well what it was. Attraction. Base, animal attraction to her very best friend.

The boy she could never hope to impress, because she was so painfully shy. She could never ever bring herself to tell him.

Besides, she reasoned, she wasn't even close to being good enough. She had huge round glasses, her hair was always plaited to stop it flying all over the place, and her face was smattered with freckles.

She knew the sort of girl he deserved. A girl with a beautiful smile, confidence overflowing. A girl who could make everyone in the world fall in love at once.

And that just wasn't her.

And he _knew_ that she was shy, so why, why had he grabbed her hand and begged her to come and enter the little talent contest Roger had decided to hold?

Roger was always doing that, reasoning that the children needed to stretch their creative muscles sometimes too.

He'd _smiled_ and said, "Come on A, I can play my violin and you could sing!"

She'd wanted to shake her head violently and tell him he was crazy for even thinking she'd stand on a stage and make an idiot of herself like that.

But she was so unbearably shy. She'd wanted to hate him, but she couldn't bring herself to it.

She would admit, however, to enjoying the rehearsals with him, in his room, he'd sit on his bed playing as skilfully as any professional, and her quietly humming the words.

Every time it was the same. He'd smile and tell her she just needed to be louder, more confident, and they'd be sure to win.

Now they were back stage. She could hear some performance beyond the curtain, but she was too busy panicking.

And suddenly she heard _his_ name and hers announced, and she bolted for the bathrooms.

She stood there crying with the humiliation and fear, her head resting against the cold tile of the wall, the occasional sob racking her body.

It just destroyed her inside.

She _wanted_ to be brave and confident and everything he deserved. So she might be able to summon the courage to tell him the simple truth that sometime during ten years of being best friends, she'd fallen in love.

The door opened and in he walked, he'd never had any shame or qualms when it came to privacy.

"Angel?"

She shook her head. "I _told_ you I have stage fright!!"

His footsteps, shuffling. His hand on her shoulder. "Angel… please look at me."

She forced herself to look up.

He was smiling so tenderly.

"I am sorry. I just always thought you had a lovely voice, Angel, you just need to come out of your shell." His eyes brightened. "I have an idea…" he reached to her glasses and gently removed the thick frames.

She squinted. "I can't see."

"Exactly." He replied. "If you can't see the audience, you won't be so fearful." He tilted his head to the left. "…Take your hair down too."

She sighed and did as he asked, feeling the mess of copper fall around her shoulders, against the blouse of her school uniform.

His hand grasped hers and she felt her breathing stop.

"Come on." Was all he said, before leading her back out.

She heard whispers between him and Roger, and then once more she heard their names announced. Felt him lead her up some steps. Felt his hand leave hers.

For a horrible, horrible moment she was afraid he'd just abandoned her there, under the hot lights, to listen to the whispers.

She caught some of them.

"_Is that really A?"_

"_She looks really different without her glasses."_

Music. Violin music. Her intro.

She swallowed, and missed the cue. She waited for his disappointed sigh, but none came. Rather, he re-started the tune, leading to her intro again.

She bit her lip and forced herself to remember that what she wanted more than anything was to tell him the secret in her heart.

That was why she'd asked him if he could play this song.

"_Why do I do just as you say… why must I just, give you your way?"_

She still sounded so quiet. She gulped hard, forced the lump in her throat down.

"_Why do I sigh, why don't I try to forget? It must have been something, that lovers call fate…"_

People were whispering now. She couldn't catch what over the sound of his playing though.

"_Kept me saying 'I have to wait', I saw them all, just couldn't fall till we met…"_

She didn't dare look at him. Hadn't dared to look at him when they practised either, or when he asked 'why this song?', all she had been able to do was mumble about only knowing the lyrics to it well.

"_It had to be you… it had to be you… I've wandered around and finally found the somebody who… could make me be blue…"_

That much was true enough. Unintentionally, he'd been the cause of all her tears for the last year and a half.

"_Could make me be true… and even glad, just to be sad, thinking of you."_

She knew what she really wanted to do now. She tried to imagine what a girl with more confidence would do.

Play to the audience, she decided. She gave a little wink.

"_Some others I've seen, might never be mean."_ She reached and took the microphone from it's stand. "_Might never be cross, or try to be boss, but they wouldn't do. For nobody else gave me a thrill…"_

She closed her eyes tightly.

Opened them and threw a look towards the blurred shape of the violinist.

"_With all your faults, __**I love you **__still._"

She blushed when she heard the bow of the instrument skitter and play two entirely wrong notes at once.

Either he was shocked into horrified silence, or happily surprised. Somehow she didn't care. The secret was out, now it was just a matter of seeing what happened.

The music kept going.

"_It had to be you… wonderful you. It had to be you."_


	54. Tower

#54 Tower

Near stared blankly down at the pack of tarot cards.

L had given them to him, he recalled, as a birthday present one year.

He'd mostly used them for games.

But now he needed them

He cleared his mind, as all the books on the matter had told him to. Then focused in on one thing.

Mello.

Dear Mello.

Mello with blonde hair and navy blue eyes. Who dressed in black, always, and was never without a bar of chocolate.

He drew a card.

It was upside-down. That meant the negative meaning of the card was to be interpreted.

The three of swords.

The card of heartbreak, as he called it. Picturing a heart with three blades stabbed though it.

That meant someone Mello loved was going to hurt him.

Near shook his head. That made no sense, he was well aware of whom Mello loved.

Matt.

And Near knew why. Because Matt had never ever belonged to anyone but Mello. He was the one thing in the world that Near couldn't have, but Mello could.

Matt was a sweet, kind boy though. Always had been. Near had never known him to willingly hurt anyone, unless Mello told him to.

Unless…

Near sighed.

Matt would sooner die than hurt Mello.

And sadly, that would most likely be the cause of this card.

That made Near unhappy. He'd always liked Matt, the boy with a smile on his face and a song in his heart, despite the evidence around him that the world was going to hell.

Another card then.

Death.

Death drawn upside-down.

Near frowned.

He knew all too well that Death did not always mean the literal, but rather a change in life.

The problem was that it _could_ mean the literal end to life.

In dealing with this case, he had come to see the value of such a thing as he had never before.

He made a mental note to thank Kira for showing him how to value his own life, if there was time, of course.

Death.

Matt… he was certain the boy would die. But this reading wasn't about Matt, was it?

Then the conclusion to be drawn was that Mello would have his life changed soon.

Surely Matt dying would change his life? Perhaps the event would make the blonde boy see the light, and come to Near and help him. At last they would work together, brought into one goal by the sacrifice of the nicest boy to ever leave wammy's?

Near nodded, satisfied with that, and took the next card.

He yelped and dropped it like it burnt.

The Tower.

With its gruesome image of a woman falling from a tall tower to her death.

Meaning a sudden, abrupt, and unpleasant end.

And it was upside-down.

In a panic Near shuffled the remaining cards. They were all the right way up.

Then that meant…

Mello was racing towards a sudden end.

He had flung himself from the tower, and was watching the ground come to claim him.

Near closed his eyes.

First Matt would die, then Mello. How appropriate that it would be together.

He heard the clicking of leather shoes on the floor and mumbled, "How did they die, Rester?"

The man took a step back. "I..?"

"How?"

He swallowed. "Mail Jeevas was murdered by Kira followers after an unknown man kidnapped Takada. He claimed to know where she was, but they shot him without question. Takada was found burned to death in an abandoned church. Another male body was found, but couldn't be identified, but Near, how did you-?"

Near threw the pack of cards across the reading. Making it disappear.

The tower still rested visibly. If he squinted, the girl falling, with her blonde hair and dark clothes, looked very familiar.


	55. Waiting

#55 Waiting

One of the cruellest things to do to a child is make them wait.

Wait until Christmas.

Wait until your Birthday.

Wait until your father gets home.

Wait until I'm finished.

The fact is that children are inherently selfish little creatures. Not out of cruelty, but out of needing to be to survive.

Matt was no different.

When Mello left, he was almost fourteen. Technically he should have outgrown the childish selfishness.

Mello promised him, promised, that if Matt waited patiently, he'd come back for him.

But Mello was like his oxygen. Matt didn't know what to do with himself without Mello. He didn't know how to make friends on his own, because Mello had always told him he belonged only to the blonde, and he wasn't allowed to talk to anyone else.

He didn't know how to live without Mello's orders.

And he burst into frightened tears when Roger informed him that as Mello had left, he was now the second brightest child in Wammy's house. Because he didn't have the faintest idea how to be anything other than third.

He struggled through it though.

And he waited.

When he was sixteen, he realised that he was indeed smarter than Mello, he'd just never put the effort into his exams to prove it.

Another year and the horrible, gut-wrenching realisation came that if he really poured everything he had into his final exams, he'd beat Near's high score.

But that didn't matter anymore, did it? Near and Mello had left.

That left Matt as the smartest one.

And that thought scared the bejeezus out of him.

He left the house at seventeen.

He found himself a flat in London. It wasn't hard to hack a few banks and steal a few thousand grand to cover his ass for the time being.

And he waited.

He started hacking the government computers for income, selling information to the highest bidder.

It was mostly to relieve the boredom.

And take his mind from the waiting.

At eighteen he started smoking.

It was to stop the icy fear that kept creeping up on him. He was genuinely afraid of being as intelligent as Near and Mello. He didn't ever want to think on their high level.

He didn't want to be L.

He just wanted to be Mello's sidekick again, more than anything he wanted to be third and happy.

So he tried to kill off his brain cells in the traditional ways. Drinking too much, chain smoking, bingeing on junk food.

He couldn't possibly work out why he never gained any weight.

He didn't realise that his nervous energy was working it all off for him.

He waited.

And when he turned nineteen, he took the plunge.

He told himself firmly to stop waiting. Mello wasn't ever going to come back for him. He told himself to be grateful for having known the boy when he did, and move on.

Life stretched before him in a highway too frightening for him to contemplate travelling alone.

But he started the long trudge.

Then on the twenty-seventh of November, as he sat on his bed watching smoke rise from his cig, his phone rang.

He expected it to be some agency, asking for his hacking services yet again.

And he heard that voice. Deeper with age now, wiser to the world, but he could never, ever forget that voice.

"Hey Matt, you waited very patiently."


	56. Danger Ahead

#56 Danger ahead

_Oops, sorry people, three wammy-centric chapters in a row. I'll try and make sure the next one's something different. :)  
_

He'd learned a long time ago to recognise the signs.

Just like at school when they taught the kids how to cross the roads safely. Green meant safety, red meant danger.

Red meant stop.

Red meant…

He was fascinated with red things. Cars, fire trucks, sweets, crayons. He collected them in a shoebox.

He kept it under a floorboard, and only when the world was green did he open it to look at all the pretty red things.

He even liked his own hair in that respect, though it wasn't quite the right crimson shade that he adored, it was close enough to fascinate him whenever he caught sight of it in the bathroom mirrors at school.

He understood that red meant danger, though. He was always very careful when he found something red, just in case it could bite him or something.

He got teased at school, and left back a few grades.

It wasn't that he was stupid, he knew he wasn't.

When things were explained to him he understood perfectly.

But the problem was that he couldn't see the chalkboard.

One of his teachers once ventured to tell his mother as she picked the boy up that he might need glasses.

Her only response had been a mumble about money.

Launa knew her boy needed glasses. She knew very well he wasn't stupid. He knew more about the world around him than most children his age, but lacked the language and vision skills to articulate this.

And there was no hope of him getting the glasses he needed, not with his father around.

Kane.

Daddy.

He knew when he had to hide from daddy. Usually when he came home late at night smelling of sour apples and bumping into the walls when he walked. And when the bills came, because then Daddy always got mad and slapped mummy for spending all the money.

He knew to hide somewhere until he heard the door slam, and then he could come out and see mummy.

Mummy always cried.

Sometimes he didn't see the warning signs. They weren't always lit up bright red.

Sometimes he'd be staring at a book or something, and not hear the door slam. Not hear the heavy footsteps. Not even notice until daddy was right next to him and in a rage.

Kane would hit him then. Hit him for being able to get enjoyment from a book, for being able to understand something he couldn't, for making the man feel that his son was too intelligent.

Sometimes, mummy would come and hug him and tend to his bruises.

More often, these days, she would keep quiet and separate, grateful that it wasn't her.

One day he found a red piece of glass.

Someone had smashed a traffic light, and one beautifully big piece of red glass was laying on the ground. He'd grasped it carefully, sure not to let it bite, and carried it all the way home in his little gloved hands.

He'd pulled his collection from the hiding spot and sat on the floor, spreading the lot around himself and placing the glass in the box on its own.

It was the prettiest red thing he'd ever found.

He watched the light on it, giggled when it twinkled. Held it up to one eye to see if it was made of the special glass mummy said he needed to see properly.

He didn't hear the danger coming.

Not until the voice snarled out, "What is all this junk in my house?"

And then he'd yelped and scurried backwards, scattering crayons and plastic and paint flecks.

Daddy smelled of sour apples, and he was angry. That was two dangers at once.

His little hands grasped the box with the glass. That was _his_, he was sure, it was the best thing he'd ever found.

Daddy hit him.

And sometimes during the pain, little hands found the glass and thrust it upwards.

Kane screamed.

He had stared, fascinated, at the blood that dribbled from daddy's hand. It was very pretty and red.

The next hit wasn't a hit. It was a grab and a twist that snapped his arm like a twig.

And then he screamed. He screamed and screamed and nothing would silence him.

He wasn't sure when or how the policemen arrived.

He wasn't sure how he ended up in hospital.

He wasn't sure what to say when he was told his mummy and daddy weren't allowed to see him anymore.

He wasn't sure what to do when someone gave him the special glasses he needed.

But the day that the old man in the overcoat came to the foster home and told him that he'd passed a special test, and there was a place for him in a home for the brightest children ever, he was sure, sure sure, that the world was engulfed with green.

And Mail Jeevas saw no danger ahead, in the house called 'Wammy's'.


	57. Sacrifice

#57 Sacrifice

"I can't just sit here and watch this happen! We have to get to Sakura studios!" he yelled.

The detective remained impassive, staring at the horrible image of this, the message from Kira to the world. The flickering name and the madding, monotonous voice.

"If you go, Ukeita, you will almost certainly die." The detective muttered, compulsively chewing his thumb.

Ukeita's eyes flashed defiantly, "I guess that's a risk I'll have to take then."

And he turned and ran, ignoring any of the others desperately pleading for him to wait for a proper plan of action to be formed.

He raced through the hotel halls, every now and then he was forced to push a guest aside, racing down the stairs and almost falling once or twice.

He kept up a swift pace, skidding when he reached his car out in the lot and leaping into it.

He jammed the keys towards the ignition, missed and sent them falling from his hand.

He cursed bitterly and snatched them up again.

Not enough time, not enough…

How many more innocents had this asshole killed now?

The car roared into life and he violently reversed out. He clipped the car next to him. Hell.

How had L just _sat_ there and watched?

Oh sure, Matsuda, that love-struck idiot, mentioned once to Ukeita that if you watched carefully enough, you could tell L's mood by his small actions, but Matsuda was well-known for never getting anything right.

What was it he'd said?

'If he starts chewing his thumb like crazy, it means he's confused and worried.'

Utter rubbish.

How many people had died already?

Yes, yes, they were all criminals, but they were still human beings.

He ran a red light. Screw it, he was a policeman after all.

Hang on.

All the rest had been criminals.

That news presenter… he hadn't done anything but say he opposed Kira. But many, many of the reporters had said such things. Would the methodical Kira who killed so many criminals in such a short time, all at once, resort to using innocent people as devices for threats?

And come to it, would that Kira resort to the media, when he was getting messages to the only person that mattered very easily?

Ukeita bit his lip and floored it.

He didn't much like where this line of reasoning was taking him.

Because if he was right, and the Kira they had been hunting would never do this…

That meant that…

He tasted iron and realised he'd broken the skin on his lip.

There was the Sakura T.v. studio.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

This wasn't the real Kira.

But he _did_ have the same powers.

Therefore…

It was too horrible to think about, as he skidded up to the door of the studio.

There was another Kira.

He leapt from the car.

But then it was all right. He hoped.

Kira wouldn't be able to kill him from here, because Kira needed a name.

He raced to the glass door and hammered both fists on it.

"Open the damn door!" he screamed at the security guard he could see, sitting at the front desk as though it were a perfectly normal night.

The guard shook his head.

And then the shooting pain came.

Up his left arm and all across his chest, throwing him to the ground on his knees.

But…

He gasped and clutched his chest.

This meant… the second one didn't need a name.

Shuddering, he stretched two fingers out from his hand.

And surrendered to the pain.

XOXOXOX

The night ended in some triumph.

The men were sent home, it had been too long a day to stay here.

Ukeita's body was brought in for autopsy, though really none was needed.

L examined the corpse before anyone else. Though he merely looked at the man's death-frozen hand.

"Two?" he questioned the dead body. "Ahh. I see. Thank you, Ukeita. What you have done tonight will not have been in vain." The strange detective turned away and slowly shuffled back to the door, "I promise."


	58. Kick in the Head

#58 Kick in the head

L stares blankly across the gym at the vaguely human-shaped wooden puppet that is to be his opponent.

Well, of course. He can't risk training with someone else. Watari was originally helping him learn until the old man claimed L was getting strong enough to hurt him even with the protective gear on.

So now L practised alone.

He sighed and stretched, hearing his back crack in protest at the movement.

Watari was _there_. He was standing to one side watching carefully, just in case there should be an accident.

There had been some, after all.

L was a fast learner, but not incapable of mistakes. And while he was reasonably fit when he started training for this martial art, it had taken weeks before he acquired the flexibility.

Of course, he was learning faster than many people ever did. But to l, it would never be fast enough.

Watari coughed. "Are you ready?"

The young man was unusually shirtless, and had rolled his baggy jeans up around his knees. Watari would have asked why, but he'd long ago realised that even though he probably knew the man best, he'd never totally understand what went on in that brilliant mind.

"Yes Watari."

The old man leant over slightly and flicked the cd player on.

A slow, steady drum beat bounced into the gym, echoing and reverberating over and over.

L's leg muscles tensed the smallest amount.

One, two, three.

In one motion he threw himself forwards and onto his hands, holding the handstand for three steady beats.

Bent first one leg to touch his toes to the ground.

One, two, three.

Then the other. Watari winced to himself, trying not to imagine the pain the young man was doubtless putting his spine through, all for the sake of learning to defend himself.

Still, it couldn't be denied that the man was gaining muscle tone. But there were easier, less painful ways to get fit, Watari thought to himself.

In time with the steady rhythm, L flipped back onto his feet. He turned to face away from his target, and as the drums began to go faster, he back-flipped.

Once, twice, three times.

Sometimes Watari wondered if there was something other than human in the boy.

When he'd found him, he wasn't like any other eight-year-old.

And now he wasn't like any other young man.

It wasn't just the intelligence or autism, the combination of which frightened those who did not know the man. There was something else.

BB had been that way too. Slightly more than human.

On the last flip the boy twisted his whole shape in mid-air. This was usually where something went horribly wrong and Watari had to spend three minutes putting limbs back into sockets.

Not this time. Perfect landing, now he was facing the wooden puppet again.

One, two, three…

The beats were at a steady crecendo now. Speeding up every time.

With all the force in himself, L spun, threw both hands to the plastic crash mat under him and swung his feet at the head.

Skin and oak collided.

Wood splintered and snapped.

The head came away from the puppet and slammed into the opposite wall, crashing down onto the floor.

The beats stopped.

L sighed and slumped to sit on the mat.

Watari walked over slowly. "Had enough?"

L nodded. "Yes. I have five splinters in my feet. It hurts."

Watari nodded again and knelt down, taking out the first-aid kit he always kept handy in these sessions and attending to the painful embeddings.

"…Do you think I could remove a real person's head through the same attack?"

Watari barely flinched at the dark question. "I'm not sure. You must have put a lot of strength into that one."

L nodded. "I imagined someone I want to hurt. I want to hurt him more than I've ever wanted to hurt someone before. I want to see him begging for his life."

Watari shook his head to himself. Such violent actions and thoughts, bloodthirsty at times, and yet here was the man who was saviour to the innocent, deadly to the wicked.

"Whom, L?"

"Kira."

_Hi! Just to ask you guys a favour, go to Youtube and find a video of someone practising actual caepoira, it's incredible to watch!_


	59. No way out

#59 No way out

Down into the concrete basements he strolled. Away from the gold-plated world of his temple and into the dungeon in which he himself had once been imprisoned.

He stopped in front of the cell, staring through the sheet of glass at his precious little pets.

There was the littlest one, always the easiest to see even in this darkness, because he was so, so very pale.

He was _adorable._ Kira thought to himself, a smirk tracing his lips. So little and lithe and unable to fight back. Sometimes when god took him out for 'walkies', he cried.

Kira was aware that the boy was in fact a lot older than he looked, but with in this situation he repressed into a child.

They were all naked, of course, but this little one was so pale in colour that the collar stood out more on his neck. The black collar with a silver pendant dangling gently, a metal N in gothic script, thudding gently against the thin chest as he wriggled against the chain that bound him to the wall.

A movement in the darkness signalled to the god where his next pet was.

Ah, the one he'd taken more because he was there than out of any real want. Though now he was very happy indeed he'd ordered his followers to take him.

Crimson hair that flopped in his pale face, a blindfold knotted over the boy's eyes. Kira had found out very quickly that that particular boy had a habit of misbehaving if he could see.

And taking his stupid goggles off of him had only served to make him more badly-behaved. Kira's answer? Take away his sight altogether.

He often whispered to the boy that he was very lucky, he wasn't chained to any walls, he was allowed to move. Even if all he could do was stumble blindly around into things.

He had a collar too. But his was a lower-case M, in the same distinctive script.

Kira liked him. He snarled out insults, and then cried for help every time. Often, Kira gave him pleasure too, just to see the tears of shame and hear the whimpers of the pet as he begged forgiveness.

He snickered, despite himself.

Two seconds later the pretty blonde slammed against the glass, snarling and barking out violent threats and insults. Swearing death upon him.

Now he was easily Kira's second favourite. No-one could ever deny this one was _beautiful_, and because he was the most attractive, Kira took the time to have him bathed and groomed, it would have been a sin to let him grow filthy and thin like the others.

And he _always_ fought. Kicked and scratched and bit, giving Kira the excuse to beat him, to make him learn to obey.

He'd let this one keep something of his past life. A long strand of rosary beads, tiny silver crucifix dangling at the end and against the bare flesh of his stomach.

Kira smirked and leant forwards, "Where is your god?" he purred.

"Kiss my ass!"

Kira chuckled, and watched the silver capital M on this pet's collar as it thudded back and fourth. It started to leave an indentation.

He was aware that this pet and the red-haired one had been together before his reign. Somehow that made this all the more delicious.

"Light-kun." Came a soft voice from the back of the cell.

Kira looked up, eyes narrowing, "I have told you before, I'm Kira."

The young man chained to the wall by his wrists showed no reaction. His eyes were dead, knees still somehow resting against his bare chest, messy and filthy black hair concealing most of his face.

"Light-kun, please, at least let the other three go." He said calmly. "They're just children. Come on, you have me to humiliate as much as you want, you don't need them."

Kira grinned. How very noble, that was why this one was his favourite. He was the hardest one to break, the one who simply refused to be snapped into misery and insanity as the others were, but continued to hold on to whatever was left of himself.

His collar had the largest pendant, because that was the final humiliation. To see the symbol of what had once been justice reduced to a pet on a string.

His collar bore a silver L.

Kira laughed. "Call me god, and I'll let you all out."

At once all the pets faces darkened.

L growled out in a low voice. "I'll die before I call you anything other than a Murderer."

Kira turned away and threw them a dark look over one shoulder. "Then there is no way out for you." He purred, before leaving them in the darkness.

XOXOXOX

"Light? Light!"

Light shuddered out of his daydream. "What do you want, Matsuda?" he growled.

As the man babbled, Light thought darkly to himself that if there had been any way possible back then, by now, he would have had his pets.


	60. Rejection

#60 Rejection

"Fetch you another coffee, L?"

"Yes, and as I have told you about a thousand times, you must only refer to me as Ryuzaki." The impassive detective replied.

Matsuda visibly wilted. "Oh yeah! I'm sorry, I have trouble with names-" he started to babble explanation for his idiocy.

L sighed, "My coffee, please?"

Matsuda nodded sheepishly, and hurriedly scurried to the machine. He was fairly sure only he and Watari even knew how the high-tech thing worked. Watari out of duty, and Matsuda out of adoration.

He'd always daydreamed about the great L, that mysterious man who could solve any case. It wouldn't be inaccurate to call him something of an L fanboy.

Before this, he'd had a very clear idea of what his fantasy L was like.  
How long had he admired the mysterious 'L' figure? Coming into hopeless situations and saving the day without ever being seen, then vanishing like dust in the wind?

And when that letter on the screen consented to show its face, how he told himself that when he met the man in question he would do his utmost to impress him, to at the very least, get himself a smile from the figure.

He imagined him outside the door to the hotel room; he'd be tall, and well groomed, dressed all in black, red tie, maybe with the gothic L letter on it, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Looking like a real secret agent.

He had not been correct on any counts.

L was rather short for his age.

L looked as though he had rolled out of bed and stumbled into the room.

L's hair was a rats nest of black.

L wore a far-too-baggy white shirt and denim.

L's eyes were large and round and black, and had bags under them.

Then shock had given way to his usual goofy tendencies, because despite all other opinions to the contrary, to Matsuda L was and always would be _gorgeous._

In front of him the coffee machine beeped to let him know it was done. He sighed and moved the mug onto the table and started adding sugar cubes. He'd long ago learnt how to make L's coffee the way he liked it.

Watari once even pointed it out to Matsuda. Told him that it seemed the policeman was after his job.

Seven sugar cubes.

Enough milk to turn the dark liquid caramel coloured.

He smiled and carried back. "Here you go L- I mean, Ryuzaki."

The dark-haired man nodded vaguely, downing the lot in one gulp.

Matsuda bit his lip and looked around.

Most of the task force had gone home by now. Only the Chief was still sitting, wearily going over reports.

"Mr. Yagami, please go home now, you look tired." L's voice floated in the air.

Matsuda blushed to himself as he watched the chief get up and leave. He could stay and listen to L's voice forever very happily. It had a strangely soothing tone.

Matsuda wondered what L would say if he knew?

Who was Matsuda kidding, he probably knew already, he wasn't the best in the world for no reason.

In which case, he was just ignoring the little policeman. Probably seeing him as an annoyance. Silly and insecure and pathetically lusting after the detective.

He felt his blush intensify and coughed.

"Oh… I forgot you were still here." L muttered, looking up from the screens. "You can go too, Matsuda. Unless there's some reason for you to stay?"

Matsuda shook his head violently. "Oh, no, I'll go. See you tomorrow Ryuzaki." He blurted out, then hurried from the room, once outside he leant on the wall and sighed.

He'd never felt so stupid before in his life.

For a moment in the room there was silence.

Then Watari injected kindly, "There's always tomorrow, Ryuzaki."

L chewed his thumb gently. Damn Matsuda for being such an idiot. Damn him for being so cute and obvious and not recognising an open invitation.

He probably wouldn't understand what L was getting at unless he just grabbed him and told him one day.

Or maybe he did, and L was misreading things. Maybe Matsuda really wasn't all that enticed by the idea of someone like L.

The detective sighed; he'd never felt so rejected.


	61. Fairy Tale

#61 Fairy Tale

Sit down nicely now boys, I'm going to tell you a story. Mello, stop shoving, it doesn't matter where Near sits.

Matt, please switch that off.

Oh?

Last boss of the dungeon?

Go on then, but mute it, and it goes off the moment you finish.

All right then, I'm going to tell you the story of Goldilocks and the three bears.

I don't care if you've heard it before, Mello, you're going to listen.

Once upon a time there was a little girl with blonde hair and beautiful features-

Yes Matt, like Mellos.

Mello, don't punch Matt in the head for complimenting you.

The girl was called Goldilocks. One day she decided to go for a walk in the woods, even though her mother had told her it was dangerous there…

I pause only to point out to you that when an adult tells you not to go somewhere, it's in your best interests to listen. I am aware that you are all very clever, but you are also children, please bear that in mind.

…Elsewhere in the forest lived three bears. Now I know this is illogical, given bear behaviour, but these three bears lived in a cottage, in a basic family unit of father, mother and child.

Yes Near, I know bears don't live in family units, but it's only a story.

The bears were about to have their breakfast of porridge-

Boys, _please_ stop all this pointing out to me. I know very well what bears actually eat, but I'm trying to tell you a story.

The porridge, however, was too hot for them, so they decided to go for a walk while it cooled. Almost as soon as they were out of sight, who should skip out of the forest but Goldilocks, who took one look at the cottage and decided that she would see if anyone was home.

She knocked on the door but got no answer, so she opened it and walked in. Please take note, boys, she is now guilty of breaking and entering.

She squealed in delight when she saw the porridge and sat herself at the table, deciding, very rudely, to help herself. She tried the father's but it was still too hot. She tried the mothers but it had gone too cold. Then she tried the child's and it was fine, so she ate the whole lot.

She has now broken into a home and stolen a meal, as well as fairly well soiling two others.

She then decided to sit by the roaring fireplace for a while and wait for the owners to return. She tried the father's chair but it was too hard, she tried the mother's but it was too soft. Then she tried the child's chair, but it was too small and smashed to pieces under her weight.

Please add destruction of property to the growing list of offences.

With a sigh, she got up and decided she would have a look upstairs. She found a bedroom with three little beds. She tried the father's but it was too hard to sit on, the mother's was far too soft. When she tried the child's bed it was so comfy that she fell fast asleep on it.

Near, it's a fairytale, it can't have the bears acting like real animals and sleeping in a big furry heap.

Matt, put that Gameboy down, you finished that dungeon ten minutes ago, now you're just killing time.

Where was I?

Oh yes. In the meantime, the bears returned from their walk to a terrible shock, their door was open, their food was eaten and the poor baby bear was in tears over his broken chair.

Furious, the bears followed their noses upstairs to discover their beds had been laid in, and that there was still someone asleep in-

Yes, Mello, Golidlocks was thick as shit and deaf, so she didn't hear three giant bears coming upstairs, now may I be allowed to continue?

Right.

Well when they saw the girl, the bears roared in fury and ate her for their breakfast instead; they then went to live in a cave and acted like proper bears.

Now I have a question for you. Was her punishment of being eaten justice for the crimes she had committed?

Correct, no it wasn't. If you only ever learn one thing from me, learn this: Murder is always wrong, no matter who it is who is killed.

…Hm?

No Matt, that doesn't include Ganondorf, Bowser, Dr. Eggman or Wizeman.


	62. Magic

#62 Magic

_Happy L's birthday everyone! :)_

He doesn't want to believe what he knows makes the most sense.

He was a strange boy, growing up, never liked fairytales, because he said magic isn't real.

He only trusts logical things. A quite natural reaction to being so alone as a child, I suppose. One tends towards the solid and safe and factual.

That's not to say he doesn't have an imagination, he does. It's just that he uses facts.

He doesn't believe in magic.

But if this second Kira is telling the truth, then the fact is that Shinigami are real, Grim reapers. And if such a creature exists, then it's not that great a leap to assume that enchantments also exist.

And if that's true, then his entire system of looking at the world has crumbled into dust.

He's sitting alone now; the task force has gone home. He's sitting in his odd way in a plush armchair; eyes fixed on the tv screens in front of him.

"More cake?"

He nods.

I obligingly place a slice of strawberry shortcake in front of him. He doesn't touch it.

This is bad.

"Ryuzaki, why is this so worrying for you?"

He blinks his sore eyes and looks up at me. "Because, Watari, if I am to believe this message, we are dealing with the supernatural. I do not like the idea of having to do that." He chews the nail of his thumb, a bad habit I never managed to get him out of as a child.

I nod, "I see. But even the supernatural must have rules. Have you considered thinking of it as a new challenge?"  
He shakes his head, dark black hair making a noise like straw as it moves. "This case was challenging enough without bringing shinigami into it."

I laugh a little. "I seem to recall a small boy once telling me that nothing ever challenged him enough."

He doesn't answer.

That is the wonderful thing about being a surrogate parent to this genius. I am the only one on earth who actually has the ability to take his words away like that.

It annoys him endlessly.

I sigh. "Come now, Ryuzaki. You are the most intelligent person I have ever known, and you're afraid of opening your mind."

He throws me a sulky look. "I'm not going to open my mind so much that my brains fall out."

Haha, I taught him that.

"Quite right, but why be so hostile to the idea of magic existing?"

He frowns. "I only believe what I can see with my own eyes."

I raise an eyebrow, "Is that so? Can you see air?" he doesn't reply. "How about gravity?"

He's actually blushing faintly. "…Point taken…"

I pat his messy hair; I really ought to nag him to brush it more often. "Magic most certainly does exist, Ryuzaki. I can prove it."

He blinks.

"What else could it be that causes wonderful things? Maybe there's a logic to it, but there's a magic too. Magic is part of what being alive is. Think about how unlikely it is that a human being would even be born, and survive, and grow to be something incredible. Maybe what makes that human being survive… maybe that's magic."

He's staring, wide-eyed, still so much a child really.

He nods quietly. "I see… life itself is a kind of magic…" he stares at the surveillance tape. "Then there must also be a logic to this 'shinigami' clue. Thank you Watari."

And to my immense relief, he starts to eat the cake.


	63. Do not Disturb

#63 Do not Disturb

Laying in between them, it never seems odd.

I never sleep very much, even after exhausting activities such as ours. It gives me time to think.

Misa is so sweet.

I still maintain that eventually she and I would have fallen in love, even without the catalyst of Light-kun. _Especially_ without him.

Ever since I saw her on the front cover of that magazine, one day when I was wandering the town near Wammy's. Ever since that moment I've wanted her. I wasn't lying when I said I was a fan, though in honesty I keep it secret, because Watari would tease me about it endlessly.

And then meeting her, by chance… and finding out she was dating Light.

And was possibly another Kira.

At the time it made me sick.

Because I didn't want to have to hurt someone so beautiful. Someone else who knew how hard it was to loose your family.

And even if she was innocent… how dare Light have her? How could he, the smug, arrogant, irritating man, have the good luck to have found her first? If she'd met me first…

I sigh.

But that wasn't the half of it.

Because at the same time I burned with jealousy that she could hug Light-kun's arm and kiss him and show her emotions so easily, and I could barely get up the courage to smile at him.

I don't even know when he managed to infatuate me. All I remember is that watching him through those cameras was more fascinating than anything I'd ever seen before was.

And talking to him… I'd never had someone to talk to who was at my level and close enough in age for us to communicate properly before then.

I'd never even considered my sexuality before that. If I had, I would have thought myself asexual. As it turned out, I just hadn't met the right person.

Beside me Light mumbles in his sleep.

Misa shifts slightly and stills.

_People._

Imprisoning them…

I don't know, on one hand I was glad. Glad that I could force them apart and keep them both for myself.

I was never very good at sharing as a child. The problem was that I couldn't, logically speaking, keep both of them. That would lead to complications and jealousy.

And Misa, I'm so, so sorry, but I chose Light.

That's what the chains were about. You were partially right about me.

But it didn't work, because Misa refused to step aside gracefully. She kept insisting on seeing us. Well, seeing Light.

I wonder if either of them knew how angry and confused those dates made me?

I wonder if perhaps they planned it.

Either way, after Light and I's fight…

We were sitting in a neat triangle, Misa bathing the little cuts and bruises on Light's perfect face. Then she turned to me…

"Where does it hurt?"

I didn't know what to say. Light stepped in and pointed to one of my eyes, "I hit him there, look, it's starting to swell a bit."

I was strange, those two working together like that. Light pointing to an injury, and Misa cleaning it up.

And somehow that turned into kissing. And whispers. And quietly leaving for a room where there were no cameras.

In hindsight, that was foolish of me, they could have killed me.

But they didn't.

Doesn't that count for anything in my mind?

I want so much for them to be innocent.

Misa is sleeping with her head on my chest, because Light doesn't like hugging. I love it, she smells of her vanilla perfume, and her hair tickles.

Light's on my other side, one hand resting on my waist, but otherwise sharing no contact.

They're so gorgeous…

What on earth do they want with someone who looks like me?

I've asked them before; Misa smothered me in kisses and said she thought I was cute. Light agreed and added I had an interesting personality.

It defies all logic, but I do love them both very much.

It's getting close to morning…

I think we'll take the day off. Whatever else happens from this point on, I want to have spent at least one day with them, loving them.

I'm glad I thought to hang that sign on the door-handle before we stumbled into bed…


	64. Multitasking

#64 Multitasking

Matt sighed to himself. Why had he ever agreed to come and be Mello's errand boy? It was worse than Wammy's, because now Mello was older and seemed to have picked up some bad habits, like 'smacking Matt around the head'.

Still, he'd picked up a few himself, he thought, glancing down at the cig that hung from between his lips, ashen smoke floating from the tip and into the sky.

He'd never expected Mello to send him to spy on people though. Sure, hack some systems, which he could do. But spying had always been Mello's thing. That was how he got into the Mafia, the kid could disguise and bluff his way through anything.

Matt was a tech nerd at heart, he hated going outside unless it was directly beneficial to him, and he didn't exactly blend in with crowds.

He flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette and allowed his green eyes to fix on the doorway of the clothes shop his little target had disappeared into with her hulking bodyguard.

He called her Princess Peach. Mello wouldn't tell him her real name at first, and by the time he heard Mogi calling her 'Misa', he'd already got into the habit of calling her after his favourite game damsel in distress.

He'd always liked blondes. Never been able to say no to a blonde with blue eyes.

Which, he thought with an internal laugh, is what had got him into this mess, Mello's pretty blonde hair and navy blue eyes.

Oh well, there were worse things in the world than stalking sexy little blondes, he reasoned.

He watched her walk out, Mogi carrying about fourteen bags of whatever she'd decided to buy. He pushed himself upright from where he'd been leaning on the wall and began to follow her again.

All through the day she shopped, Mogi groaned behind her, and Matt kept a watchful emerald eye on them both. Mello said they were something to do with Kira, though all he could gather from them was that 'Princess Peach' was madly in love with someone called Light and Mogi was exhausted with this work. Matt felt for the guy. He was tired just from watching.

Then finally, as the night drew in, Misa suggested they stop for a meal in some restaurant.

Matt waited a few minutes outside before following them in, wondering to himself how the hell he planned on buying anything more than a couple of drinks. Mello wasn't too generous with his cash and Matt used up the last of his savings to come help the psychopath.

He glanced around the place.

Where was she?

Where was Mogi, for that matter?

Christ, Mello was going to kill him…

"Hiya, you lost?"

Matt spun around.

She was sitting at the bar, sipping something with too many bits of fruit floating in it.

He smiled sheepishly, "Nah, I was just looking for someone."

She giggled. "From the look on your face you just found her."

Matt almost blushed at that. He smirked and took the empty seat beside her, "Maybe. Shouldn't a pretty little thing like you have a big boyfriend to protect her?"

She sipped her fruity cocktail, "Hehe, my… friend's gone to the bathroom. I've been making him carry all my stuff all day." She gestured to the bags around her chair.

Matt nodded, playing along with the model, "Aw, so I'd be wasting my breath if I tried a pick-up line?"

Misa burst out laughing, "I don't know about that… I do have a fiancé'…" she hiccuped. "But he's all the way back in Japan…"

Matt grinned. She was tipsy and alone, perfect chance to get some information. And she didn't seem to be protesting his advances, which would probably make this easier.

Mello would _have_ to reward him for this.

"Heh… You know, you're just about the hottest girl I've ever seen, and I've seen plenty." He purred.

She blushed, Matt wondered how long it had been since someone complimented her.

He leant forward and took one of her tiny hands. "Listen, why don't we leave your friend a message saying you've gone for a walk, to get some air, hmm?"

She nodded, face a pretty shade of pink.

Ten minutes later they were on Matt's motorbike.

Twenty minutes later they were in his bed.

Forty minutes later he was laying on his back, blowing a smoke ring into the air, while she lay beside him, blushing several shades of red.

"…Misa shouldn't have done this…"

Matt smirked, "Look, I'm not gonna tell, you're not gonna tell, your boyfriend never has to know, alright?"

She nodded. "Thank you Mail."

He wondered if he should have used an alias, but she only had his first name, after all.

"S'alright." He leant over and pecked her cheek, "Want me to give you a lift back to the restaurant? Not that I'm trying to get rid of ya…"

Her smile was sweet. "Yes, thank you… Mogi will be getting worried."

While she ran to have a short wash, Matt's cell rang. With a groan, he walked out onto the balcony and answered, knowing full well who it would be.

"Matt! I've been trying to contact you for fifteen minutes!! Where have you been?!"

Matt smirked, vaguely recalling his phone ringing and not caring. It felt good to make Mello worry a bit. He smirked down the phone, "I've been… lets just say I've been multitasking."


	65. Horror

#65 Horror

_Just a short one today, technically I should be doing schoolwork ;)_

How can it be that he's not afraid?

Oh yes, he doesn't show any emotion. How easy it is to forget that.

Just like it's so easy to forget he's actually a teenager, and not a little boy. I often forget that.

Not like his friend, the infamous Mello. He was all emotion. Quite cute too, a shame he had to die for us to capture Kira.

Near…

He's either very brave, or devoid of all emotion.

He told us, before we came out, to expect to see a monster behind the man who is Kira. And we are an elite squad, so we didn't show a twinge of fear when they walked in and there…

Before our very eyes…

Was a demon.

Near told us very calmly before we left 'the last thing you need to fear is the creature that looks like a monster. The thing to fear is the man in front of it.'

And he's right, I know.

Because it's _him_.

Light Yagami.

The monster behind him, the shinigami, a creature that looks like the ill-fated offspring of barbed wire and a lizard, is nothing to be afraid of. Near made the point that if it was out to help Light, it would have done so at any number of points already.

In all truth, I don't have any fear or horror for the beast that's grinning at us.

It's the demon who stands in front of it.

Light Yagami.

Kira.

This means that he watched his own father die… and felt no guilt.

He was the one who killed L. Watched the life drain from his eyes and didn't feel anything.

Killed hundreds of thousands of people and didn't even flinch.

This is the person who has left a trail of destruction in his wake and looking into his dead eyes I can see that he doesn't even care. He doesn't care even for the men around him, who have stood by him, some of whom have _refused_ to believe that he could be a killer.

The shinigami isn't the thing to be afraid of. And I'm not.

But I'm scared out of my mind of Kira.

I can feel a trail of cold sweat running between my shoulder blades at the thought of being in front of him.

My heart-rates gone up.

I've never felt real horror like this before.

Not even when I turned and saw, without warning, Mello in my home.

Not even when he kidnapped that damn reporter.

Not even watching horror films have I ever feared like I do at this moment.

A quick glance at my comrades tells me they're feeling the same thing. Rester's hand is twitching for his gun.

In a moment, Near's going to reveal all.

And then it'll be easy; I'll go into automatic.

But right at this moment, I've never been more afraid.


	66. Traps

#66 Traps

_(I know all the dialogue isn't quite right, call it poetic license? __^-^;; __) _

Light's eyes flickered rage at the sight of the infamous L.

How _dare_ he mock a god by showing no fear? He would pay and pay dearly for this.

The student smirked evilly, listening calmly to what this man who was supposed to be the most intelligent one in the world had to say for himself.

It was barely more laudable than those reporters who were denouncing him, could this man really be L?

For a moment he considered this.

Even if that wasn't L, this would be a perfect chance to show his powers and prove to the world that Kira was here, and he was watching.

And if it really was L, then this would just be a huge bonus.

What was he saying? L wouldn't risk the life of anyone other than himself. It wouldn't be allowed by the police.

Then that man was L.

Idiot.

Light turned and giggled slightly, staring down at the blank page, "Lind L. Taylor, if only you'd been smarter, this could have been very interesting."

The pen rose.

XOXOXOX

L stared at the laptop screen showing him what was happening on the broadcast.

He hated having to resort to killing someone, but sadly, he knew he would have to bring himself to Kira's line of thought that criminals had very little left to live for in any case.

Even so, it was hard, watching in silence and waiting to see if he was right.

If he was right, then only one man would have to die for the cause. And he'd never been wrong before.

It was a crude trap at best, he knew, but what other choice was there?

He crossed one set of fingers and waited.

XOXOXO

Light watched the seconds as they ticked by, caramel eyes flicking from the t.v. to his watch.

He never got tired of counting down forty seconds. It was exhilarating to think that in forty seconds his main rival would be gone, and he'd be in a much better position to set about ruling the world with his justice.

The man on the television gasped and grasped his chest.

He collapsed over the desk, the microphone falling from its stand and clattering to the floor.

Around the corpse people began to panic and run onto the screen.

Light let out a single bitter laugh, and turned back to his desk.

XOXOXO

L's dark eyes widened.

So, Kanto then.

_Got you, Kira._

Interesting that this person pretending to be god fell for the simplest trick in the book.

L smiled, despite himself, and pressed the key that would start this battle between himself and Kira, his greatest case yet.

On screens all over Kanto, his huge, gothic alias flickered onto the screen.

He took a breath, and leant to the microphone.

"Greetings, Kira. I am L. The man you just killed was a prisoner on death row. I believe the apt phrase would be 'Got you'."

XOXOXO

Light's mouth dropped open. Beside him Ryuk started laughing.

"This was only broadcast in the Kanto region of Japan because that's where the killing started. Now I know where you are." The distorted voice continued in a steady monotone.

XOXOXO

L gulped, because for once he was genuinely afraid.

"So come on then, here I am. Kill me."

He knew it was a huge risk. If just one of his deductions were wrong, he would die with those words.

But he'd never been wrong before. There was a 99.9 percent chance that he would walk away from this particular gamble alive.

He swallowed and tried to force himself to sound courageous. "Didn't you hear me, Kira? Kill me!!"

That was better.

"Come on! Do it if you can!"

XOXOXO

The colour drained from Light's face as that steady monotone grew louder and more daring with every snarled instruction to kill the letter that floated on his television screen.

"He… He tricked me!! The bastard tricked me!" he growled, punching his desk.

"_Come on, what? Can't you do it?_"

He turned and glared at the screen. "I'll get you for this…"

The letter chuckled.

XOXOXO

He couldn't help it; he had to laugh, just because the adrenaline of fear was running through his veins.

"I thought so. You can't. Well, this was interesting. Mark my words Kira, I am going to hunt you down, and I am going to see you executed for what you've done."

He breathed, assured now that he was safe for one more day.

"I am justice." He purred into the microphone, then switched it off.

There was a moment of silence in the dark room.

"That went better than expected, L."

L turned and allowed a small smile to cross his face at the old man. "Yes. I wasn't expecting Kira to fall for such a simple trap."


	67. Playing the Melody

#67 Playing the melody

"Play me something."

I don't hear him at first. I never mean to be cruel, but sometimes I'm so absorbed in my own mind that I just tune out the outside world.

"Play me something." He repeats.

I sigh and look down at him, bob of blonde, navy blue eyes, sad little pout that means something has genuinely upset him.

It's really past his bedtime; he's in his little black pyjamas. I ought to send him back to his room.

I sigh and get up, wincing when I hear my knees click in protest. I'm going to have terrible arthritis in my knees when I get to Wammy's age.

_If_ I get to Wammy's age.

I walk over to the piano and sit on the stool, scooting it closer to the keys and raising my hands to the ivory keys.

"What would you like me to play?"

He shuffles his feet for a moment, looking at the varnished floor. I wonder why he always pretends to be shy when I speak to him? He's no shrinking violet in reality, he orders everyone around, even me.

He coughs. "Um… Yanno that one song… the one we all know?"

I nod. I know which song he means. The one all four of us learnt how to play.

I start playing the cords carefully, closing my eyes; it's so much easier to concentrate.

After a moment, I hear him move, and feel him sit beside me on the piano stool. He leans his head on my shoulder. It makes it a bit difficult to play, but I can manage.

After a moment or two, he tugs at my sleeve. I open one eye.

"Mm?"

He grasps my arm and lifts it over his head, so it's around his shoulders. I'm forced to leave the keys with that hand while the other keeps playing.

He replaces the lost hand with his own, playing the melody expertly, head resting against my shoulder and chest.

"What's wrong?" I finally ask.

He shakes his head and nuzzles against me harder.

Is it strange for him to be so affectionate?

I suppose it must be, but all four of us have always been that way. All kids like being hugged once in a while, even orphans, and we ended up so starved of contact that even though now I'm seventeen it's becoming inappropriate, we always end up cuddling one another.

"Come on, you know you can tell me anything." I press, the song filling the room. "I'm not going to laugh or judge or mock."

He sighs deeply, eyes slipping sleepily closed. "Matt said he hates me."

I blink, that's odd. Matt is Mello's shadow, his puppy, his slave. I've seen and heard Mello abusing his power over the red-haired boy endlessly, but I've never heard of Matt answering back.

"Oh? What made him say that?" I ask casually, the arm around him patting his shoulder gently, the best I can do for comfort at the moment.

He shudders and once again tries to bury his face in my side.

Is he crying?

I stop playing and turn to face him, grasping his upper arms so I can keep him still and look at him.

He is.

I let him fall against me again, stroking his shaking shoulders and muttering vague assuring comments.

"Come on now… what on earth did crying ever accomplish? Tell me what happened and I'll try and sort it out."

When did I fall into the role of father to those three?

No, that's not fair, I'm not their father figure, I'm their big brother. They tell me things they wouldn't dare tell anyone else, they whisper their secrets to me because they trust me implicitly, they come to me when they fall and scrape their knee or burn themselves or anything else.

They whine and whimper if they have to go see the nurse on their own. If I go with them they sit quietly and clench my hand when it hurts.

It's not selfish though, when I was younger I was in and out of hospital a lot, down to general ill health, and every time they insisted on coming along. Even Near, and he was only a toddler.

Wammy asked me why us four are like that once. I told him it was because we were a family.

He finally stops his sniffling and mumbles. "I… I was just… talking… and he started yelling and I started yelling and then he said he hated me."

I nod gently, "I see. What were you talking about?"

He blushes a bit and curls his arms around my skinny waist, "How much I love you…"

I can't fathom why he's blushing like that. It's not as though those words are rare between us four, every night, without fail, I say that to each of them in turn.

Near first, because he's the youngest, and goes to his room first, like all the other toddlers. I pick him up and carry him to his room, put him in his snow-white bed and say, 'Goodnight Near, love you."

He always babbles back, trying to say the words, but his mouth is still not under his own control.

Then Mello and Matt together, in their shared dorm. Matt's younger and skinnier but I always end up carrying Mello instead, though really he's too heavy and too old for it.

It's strange how much of a baby he becomes at night. It's very cute though. He hugs me around the neck and mumbles, "Love you L.".

Matt isn't so affectionate, usually he's got a game in front of his nose which I have to remove from his hands.

Still, he always smiles and chirps out, "Night-night L, love ya and stuff."

So I can't imagine why that would cause a fight.

"Why would Matt hate you for that?"

He snuffles into my shirt. I'm going to have to throw it in the laundry now.

"I dunno." He mumbles. "Can I sleep in your room tonight?"

I'm fairly used to this, every time one of them has a nightmare or can't sleep they come to my room, curl up next to me and fall asleep in seconds.

"Of course."

They'll be friends again by the morning. Because Matt is the cords to Mello's melody. Matt is the words to Mello's tune. Matt is the sun to Mello's moon. One can't exist without the other. And they know that as well as I do.


	68. Hero

#68 Hero

He'd gone through his life being the loser.

He'd always accepted that, some people were just born to be second best. No big deal.

He'd let other people make his decisions for him; his parents pushed him into being a cop like his dad, and that was pretty much the only reason he ever got promoted.

It was only his nice personality that saved him from being fired countless times. The chief often remarked that saying 'no' to Matsuda would have been like kicking a puppy.

The chief…

Now he'd been someone Matsuda looked up to. He told himself every day that once day he'd be like the chief, respected and in control.

Though when he really thought about it, he knew it'd never happen. Aizawa was the only one among them who could ever step into the Chief's place.

But on the Kira task force…

When he'd taken the initiative and placed himself in danger for the case…

Just for a few moments, Matsuda had felt useful.

Even though L called it idiotic.

L…

The first one who fell to Kira.

Matsuda had never cried at funerals before. Not out of a lack of caring, but simply because he hadn't thought to show the emotion before.

At L's, tears streamed down his face.

With a flicker of rage, now, as Near speaks softly, he remembers how a tear or two fled down Light's face.

Crocodile tears. He really was an excellent actor.

How he'd gone to L's grave diligently and just stared at it. Making everyone believe the pledge to catch Kira was totally true.

And then, as the time passed, those two people, Wedy and Aiber. Matsuda had liked them, they were actually friendly under the cold fluorescent lights of the headquarters.

Light had even managed to seem unhappy about their deaths. Only now did it occur to Matsuda how convenient those deaths were.

And the chief, too.

Light began to laugh.

Matsuda felt himself shaking with rage.

The chief, his own father… Light was the reason the old man died, and he had the gall to lead every member of the force on, making them all believe without a doubt…

He'd _taken_ L's name.

That had never seemed right to Matsuda. It was the one time during all this when he'd dared try to tell Light he was wrong.

He'd argued that it wasn't right, to just take the dead man's only memorial.

Light had ignored him.

Now, in this warehouse, Matsuda could see why Mello had hunted Light so relentlessly.

He could understand at last why L and his heirs targeted and hated Light with such intensity.

He _killed_ innocent people, not just criminals, ruined lives, and not once in all of it had he shown a hint of remorse.

Near finished, smiling innocently at the murderer.

And no-one moved.

Matsuda stared in horror as Light moved.

Why wasn't anyone doing _anything?!_ They had guns, why weren't they using them?!

Rage bubbled in the young man, he'd never felt so angry with anyone before. He reached and grasped his own weapon.

Just for once, he hissed in his own mind, do something! Come on, you idiot, they're not going to shoot because they can't believe it! Even with it right in front of them they can't!

Just for once in your miserable life, be brave!!

He aimed.

Light's eyes met his.

No, those weren't Light's eyes. They hadn't been Light's for a long time.

Matsuda scowled.

_For L, for the chief, for Wedy and Aiber, for all those innocent people you killed and destroyed…_

He pulled the trigger.

_Goodbye, Kira._

Matsuda was the only one who was brave enough to shoot.

In some small way, he was a hero.


	69. Annoyance

#69 Annoyance

Have you got any idea how irritating you actually are?

Always jumping up without any warning at the wrong moment, or stupidly letting something slip out that implicates both of us.

And then you have the audacity to whine and beg my forgiveness when we both know I should just take your death note, and possibly write your name in it. That's what you're supposed to do with dumb animals, isn't it? Put them out of their misery.

The only use you've had so far is to get a name for me, and even then you can't manage that without getting yourself arrested and taken in by L.

L…

You know _he's_ madly in love?

That's possibly one of the reasons I keep you around. It annoys the hell out of him to see you cuddling my arm while I stare impassively at the wall.

Yes, Misa, L's got it bad for you.

In some ways I wish you'd met him first. Don't both pretending to me there isn't _something_ flickering between you two, even if you do put on an act of hating him.

Then it'd be him who had to deal with a stupid little blonde girl demanding his attention at every hour of the day and night. It'd be him who wasn't able to get any work done because he's too worried his idiotic self-declared girlfriend might be putting his entire operation at a risk.

And ok, I'd have to think of a new way to kill him, but at least I wouldn't have you dangling off my arm.

Girlfriend

That's a joke.

I don't know where you get off deciding you're worthy of me. I could do much, much better, and I intend to, one day. When you have outlived your usefulness and that damn Rem has stopped watching over you like a disturbing fairy godmother.

Then I'll be free to drop you and go find myself someone who might actually be worth my time. Someone who deserves to be a goddess, not just a silly, simpering blonde girl with more heart than common sense.

Like Kiyomi.

If I could only be sure you wouldn't kill any other girl I looked at like the selfish little bitch that you are; I'd be dating someone worth my time.

As it is I'm stuck pretending to have feelings for someone who is so annoying that every day she brings me that much closer to killing either her or myself. I'm stuck with you constantly hugging me and giggling stupidly, and being totally and utterly useless.

I suppose the only reason for my keeping you around after Rem and L are dealt with in one fell swoop, will be for the eyes. Your only use to me now is your willingness to slice your lifespan in half time and time again.

How fitting, that the two creatures who love you most will die together, and you barely realise either of them exist.

L and Rem.

For being so weak as to love an annoyance, you will die together.

And Misa?

Mark my words, I will see you die in my name.

_^_^ Before everyone starts with the flames, I actually adore Misa and this chapter is so short because I couldn't think of very much about her I wanted to insult ^^;; sorry for the slow updates, I've had a huge amount of coursework to finish :) should be back to normal soon._


	70. 67 Percent

#70. 67 percent

Near didn't much like to consider it, but there was a very real chance he'd fallen in love.

Like L, he tended to avoid the world of emotions, thinking of them as unpredictable and unscientific. But despite his very best efforts, he couldn't ignore a basic biological urge to find a partner and procreate.

He could rationalise it, of course.

It was all down to genetics, after all.

Any living thing has one basic purpose, which is to pass on its genes to another generation.

And naturally, the mind looks for those who look like they too have good genetics. Symmetrical faces, strong will to survive, which was all that the childish notion of 'attraction' came down to.

And then, once a suitable mate is noticed, it's only a natural reaction to want to keep them exclusively to oneself.

Of course, that didn't exactly explain why it was another boy, but Near chose to ignore that, there wasn't enough scientific evidence one way or the other about what made some people attracted to their own sex.

Yes, he could rationalise it all very easily.

Right up until he actually _saw_ the object of his desire.

Usually that object was hanging around behind his rival.

Mello, so beautiful he made people weep, but the most vicious and cruel boy in all of Wammy's.

It made Near angry to think that the beautiful boy was the object of so many people's desire, because to his way of thinking, the truly lovely one was the boy behind Mello.

The boy with bright crimson hair.

The boy who was always playing video-games.

The boy whose emerald coloured eyes were covered by sheets of golden plastic, because he so often broke his ordinary glasses, goggles were an easy solution.

He was the beautiful one of the two.

Near often wished he had the courage to get up and talk to him, but so often his fear of Mello's attacks kept him back.

Mello was very selfish. He didn't love the red-head, but he was damn certain that no-one else could have him either.

But then for one week, Mello got the flu. And Matt was told by the adults to stay away in case he caught it too.

And Near had seen him sitting alone in the playroom, looking like a puppy that had lost its owner.

So he'd worked up the courage he needed and walked over.

That week was wonderful.

It went so much better than Near could have hoped for. He'd always known that in contrast to Mello, Matt was very kind and playful, but he'd never expected them to actually have a lot in common.

They spent hours playing the video-games that Near hadn't realised were so entertaining. Near showed him how to make card-towers, and Matt hadn't seemed bored by it at all.

And the _hugs _were wonderful too.

The first one had been odd, Matt was sitting behind Near watching him building something from blocks, and he'd reached around to offer a suggestion… and they just sort of melted together.

Matt had begged Near not to tell Mello. Near had agreed in his monotone, not wanting the gamer to know he was blushing internally.

But all too soon Mello showed signs of getting better, and Matt, bless his kind heart, had broken it as kindly as possible to his new-found friend.

"Near… look, I like playing with you loads, and maybe some nights I can sneak into your room and we can play, but…"

Near hadn't needed anymore explanation than that. He'd just nodded and replied, "I understand."  
And he did.

He'd understood even when, years later, working at the SPK, the red-haired young man who had been the one to take his virginity had approached him and mumbled softly that Mello had contacted him.

He'd replied, "Then you have to go to him."

"No I don't, I can stay here, I-"

Near had shaken his head. "No, Matt, you couldn't. We both knew this day would come, and I know you don't want to have to choose, so I'm making the decision for you. Go to Mello."

He'd frowned, "But…Nate…"

The use of his real name had almost snapped his resolve, but Near was very good at hiding his emotions.

"We both know that Mello needs you more than I do."

Those emerald eyes had slowly lowered to the ground. "I'm sorry."

Near had smiled. "I'm not. I could never be sorry for the time we've had."

Matt had the common courtesy to tidy the room before he left.

He had a big enough heart to leave behind one of his many little hand-held consoles. Near played it until the buttons wore flat.

As he watched the news coverage of the car over and over, Near bit his lip.

67 percent chance that he would hate Mello forever for killing Matt, however indirectly.

100 percent chance that now, he understood the emotion 'love'.


	71. Obsession

#71 Obsession

There is a great deal of difference between love and obsession.

BB ought to have been intelligent enough to know this. He ought to have known that the imitating of L was nothing to do with whatever love had originally harboured in his heart for the detective.

Oh yes, maybe at first he loved L, once upon a time in their childhood. But twisted events and jealousy and pressure turned it sour.

Somewhere down the line, B's mind snapped.

Love turned to obsession, tinged with a desperate desire to overtake L, crush him and make him have to be the second.

And it failed.

He was left in a cell somewhere, charred and battered, barely alive. Skin coated in bandages and hair burnt so far down that there barely anything left.

He cried.

Because of the pain.

The pain in his body and his heart, because having been so close to death, he's had to look at his own life. And slowly it has dawned on his that somewhere down the line, he went insane, and lost L forever.

He heard the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his cell. He'd long ago memorised the times when the guards moved. This didn't fit any of their patterns.

The footsteps sounded different. Not a firm 'click click click' of leather boots on concrete. This was softer, and now his listened, shuffling.

He saw two eyes appear in the gap of the iron door to his cell. Big, black eyes, set in alabaster skin, with black bags underneath.

He knew instantly.

Whimpering at the soreness in his burned limbs, he tried to rise from his bed.

"Stay there, Beyond."

That voice…

"I'm going to come in… promise not to bite?"

B nodded weakly.

The door slid open with a creak, and he entered, closing it behind him with a clang.

He looked exactly the same as he had all those years ago. Time had done nothing to him. Not like B himself…

"L…"

Never had so much meaning been poured into a single letter before.

He smiled very faintly.

"Hello B."

For a moment there was silence, then L moved and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Does it hurt very badly?"  
The B-shaped scar nodded.

"…You know… it's amusing, really. Between us we have an IQ of 408, and yet this is how we've ended up."

BB whimpered at the pain when he moved, tilting his charred head up to look at the man he'd idolised. "420."

L smiled. "420 then. It doesn't change the fact that we've ended up in one of the most ridiculous situations I have ever heard of."

B whined when L's hand placed over his. "Don't… still stings."

L nodded and removed his hand, "Sorry… it's… I missed you."

B blinked.

A tear jumped from his eye and stung his sore flesh.

"Why?" He whispered.

L blushed faintly, alabaster skin tinting prettily. "Well… since you ran away… I haven't thought of anything else. I've been trying to find you since…" he sighed. "Bluntly, B, I think I love you."

And despite how much it hurt, B smiled under the bandages.

"There's a difference between obsession and love, L."

L leant down and kissed a patch of skin between bandage. "I know."


	72. Mischief Managed

#72 Mischief Managed

Two genius', forced to spend every passing moment of every day no more than five feet away from one another.

Everyone had expected them to go mad and kill each other in about a week.

Not one person on the task force had expected the two of them to be getting on like a house on fire.

And certainly no-one had guessed that their childish streak would lead to what it had.

Matsuda yelped in surprise as he jogged into the room, late as usual, caught his foot on a carefully-laid tripwire and fell face-first onto Ide.

He whimpered embarrassed apologies and glared across the room at the two of them.

They weren't even pretending innocence. They were both forcibly holding back laughs, L was actually shaking his chair as tiny giggles escaped his covered lips.

Chief Yagami scowled, "Now Light, L, I appreciate that you are both very low on enthusiasm for the case right now, and that with your IQ's, often you have to find something to do to keep from going insane, but torturing Matsuda isn't funny!"

L smiled pleasantly, "On the contrary Yagami-san, I think it's bloody hilarious."

Beside him, Light burst out laughing loudly, tears streaming down his face.

L continued to smile in that same, innocent way, "If Matsuda-san does not wish to be victim to more practical jokes, he will make more effort to come in on time, and attempt to be less of an easy target."

Light managed to gain some control over himself and nodded, "Yeah, it's not our fault Matsuda's such an easy guy to prank."

Matsuda frowned sadly from across the room, though he knew they were right, he was an easy target. The chief and Mogi would never have fallen for such a trick.

L noticed the older man's pouting, and blinked, "Matsuda? I am sorry, we will behave from now on… will Matsuda have a sweet as a peace offering?"

Before any of the officers could attempt to correct the idiotic young man, Matsuda was by L's side and taking one of the offered pieces of candy. Happily he unwrapped it and flicked it into his mouth, beaming at the fact that L was paying him some attention at last.

A second or two passed.

Matsuda's eyes started to water, he yelped and bolted for the bathroom, coughing and hacking.

Light and L burst out laughing once more.

Mogi sighed, "What did you give him?"

"Chilli candy!" Light explained between tears of mirth. "God, Matsuda's an idiot!"

In the bathroom, while he stood with his mouth under the tap, Matsuda began to put together a plan.

~*~*~

"Ryuzaki?"

The detective glanced up from his work, "Hmm? Matsuda?"

Matsuda smiled, the picture of idiotic innocence, "I wanted to ask you something personal, do you mind?"

L shrugged his painfully thin shoulders. "I suppose not."

"What kind of girl is your type?"

Light choked from the seat beside him, spluttering out, "Matsuda, what the hell has that got to do with-"

L blinked, chewing his thumb calmly. "Well… I don't like idiots. Or people unwilling to try."

Matsuda nodded, "And?"

L tilted his head, "hmm… I like people who smile even when things are going wrong… loyalty too, I like that in a person…" he blushed a little.

Matsuda grinned, a tiny bit wickedly, "And what about hair colour, eyes, that kind of thing?"

L actually smiled to himself, clearly lost in a daydream. "I have a certain fondness for blondes with blue eyes…"

Matsuda laughed, apparently innocent, "Wow Ryuzaki! That description sounds almost exactly like Misa-misa! If I didn't know better I'd think you had a crush on her!"

L didn't reply, but the faint blush on his face said it all.

Light scowled and stood up, "Hey, wait a moment! Misa's my girlfriend, Ryuzaki! You couldn't get a girl like Misa if you tried!"

L turned his face to Light and stuck out his tongue, "I could make Misa much happier than Light-kun, I just don't wish to embarrass Light-kun by stealing his girlfriend."

Light growled, "You _couldn't_ steal Misa!"

"Could. I could steal her right now if I wanted to. I could steal her away and have her ready to marry me in less than a month. We would invite Light-kun to the wedding."

Light snarled and grabbed the chain that connected them, using it to yank L closer and deliver a thump to his face.

L returned it with a kick.

As the fight began, and Watari and the chief came running to separate their wards, Matsuda giggled faintly and sat down to work.


	73. I Can't

#73 I Can't

I can't.

Such a lousy thing for anyone to have to say.

Admitting failure.

Submitting.

I have to do it daily.

I am a shinigami, and there is supposed to be very little limit to what I can do.

But every day I look at myself in pools of muddy water and know that I can't.

I'm not like the others.

I'm not tall and thin and oddly beautiful in their deadliness. Sculptures of bone and feathers and metal.

Terrifying.

And utterly, utterly gorgeous.

I'm short and formed like a rag doll.

And I haven't got it in me to harm a human.

All shinigami are born with one hundred years all readily stored up. I'm down to sixty.

The others laugh at me, asking why I'm so scared of writing down a name.

I don't know. I just take a look at the world, at the humans, and I don't have the strength to pick up my pen.

I often think I was created wrong.

I should have been a guardian, I've seen them floating through the world, tending to humans who are truly blessed.

I should have been a Nightmaren, sometimes I catch sight of them flying through the portal to the human world, and their beauty makes me shiver.

Or a Dream-weaver, the opposite to a Nightmare creature.

I should have been anything other than what I am.

I don't even have wings, and all the shinigami have those.

I once asked the old man how and why he created me. Why was I so different? What did he do to me that he didn't to the others?

And he had grinned his dark grin and whispered softly:

"Once upon a time, there were two humans, who were deeply in love. A young man who was handsome but superficial, a young woman whose soul belonged only to that man. But he rejected her, and rather than live without him, she killed herself. Only in her death, did the young man realise how much he needed her, and in his grief, he joined her in death."

I blinked. "…That's…. Horrible."

The king merely laughed.

"Ah, but you see, the shinigami who killed them took their hearts, and brought them to me. Their hearts were still beating with a love beyond death."

I felt my stomach lurch.

"And I wondered if there was a way for me to use these hearts. So I sent one to the human world, to a newborn human soul. And I used the other to make a shinigami like no other. I made a shinigami who could love." He gestured then, to the lounging others, playing their dice games. "Their ability to love has long since died away."

And I knew, all at once, how I was different. I placed a hand on my chest and felt the firm beating.

"I…I have the heart… and I can love?"

"Yes, your heart beats for the one who is on earth, living a human life. Your heart is its twin."

I stood, and ran to the portal. Because I knew what I had to do, I had to find the one whose heartbeat matched mine, and make them happy, for somehow make up for the misery of the tale.

I found it.

I found it in her.

Misa.

Misa whose heart matched mine.

I told Rem our heart's story, while we watched her together.

When she was in danger…

I gave the heart to Rem.

In some small way, I lived within Rem. My heart in her body, we loved Misa together.

It was only on the eve of our death, when we understood why the king had laughed.

Why had I assumed I was given the heart of the young man?

Mine was the heart always destined to die unloved.

Of all the shinigami in the world, I am the only one with the ability to love.

And I can't.


	74. Are You Challenging Me?

#74 Are You Challenging Me?

Strange how a love triangle had developed between them.

There were so many ways they all fit together so neatly and nicely.

Light and L, with twinned intellect.

Light and Misa, the beautiful people.

L and Misa…

Well that was where they sometimes hit a dull note. Oh, sure they cared about one another, and exchanged secret kisses and heated glances when the task force weren't looking, but…

Well, they both got jealous sometimes.

Misa hated that Light and L could argue and debate for hours, and completely forget she was there. She hated that L understood everything Light said, and had the intelligence to reply to it with something other than a nod and a clueless smile.

L hated that Misa was so beautiful, bright and happy. He hated that she was able to cuddle Light-kun's arm and kiss his cheek all the time and no-one would raise an eyebrow. He hated that she could express her emotions so easily. Mostly he hated how good she and Light looked together.

Light, for his part, stayed out of their jealous little spats that occurred every now and then. Of course, he did sometimes wish that his little blonde model and his gorgeously slender detective would just get along, because if not the catalyst of himself, he was certain they could make a pretty pair.

It just so happened that it came to a head one day in the task force headquarters.

Misa was lounging around, making a nuisance of herself as usual, though neither of the young men were willing to send her away. Light was staring mindlessly at the computer in front of him, eyes glazed with boredom, and L was crouched in his chair, sucking away at a lollipop and staring at Light.

Misa leant over the back of Light's chair, "Hey, nothing's happening, why don't we go out somewhere Light-kun?"

Light sighed and rolled his eyes, "Misa, we have to be on full alert in case-"

Misa stuck her lip out in a pout and glared across at L, as though it was his fault Light disliked going out. "Misa thinks Light-kun prefers spending time with that monkey!" she pointed an accusing finger at L.

L blinked, and turned to look over his shoulder to see whom she was referring to. As though he didn't already know.

Light groaned and held his head in his hands, "Misa, I have told you a thousand times, I just don't like going out when Kira is still out there somewhere." He turned back to the glowing moniters.

Misa scowled and folded her arms, angry eyes still on L.

L frowned back.

She sighed and smoothly, almost invisibly, dropped a piece of pink notepaper onto his knee.

L picked it up carefully and examined her neat handwriting.

_Its all your fault, Light would MUCH rather be out with me than here!_

The dark-haired man barely raised an eyebrow, put picked up a notepad from his desk and replied in his neat script.

_Light-kun prefers spending his time with someone who is not an idiot._

The replies came thick and fast.

_Misa is NOT an idiot! L is a creepy pervert!_

_Takes one to know one._

_If Light were a little more tempted, he would abandon Ryuzaki in a second!_

L's black eyes glittered.

_Are you challenging me?_

Misa didn't write a note back, merely turned to see if the investigation team was watching, which they weren't, and moved her hands onto Light's shoulders.

A slow, steady massage to his poor, aching joints.

Light sighed and leant his head back, much as she did occasionally annoy him, it was thoughtful of her to do this for him.

"Light-kun feels a bit better?" She cooed, loosening his tie.

Light nodded.

She smiled wickedly at L, and unbuttoned the top three buttons on Light's shirt, slipping her cool hands in and massaging his warmed skin.

He actually let out a tiny moan at that.

Misa grinned in victory.

L barely batted an eyelid, merely picked up a fresh lollipop from the desk and began to lap at it, with louder slurps than usual.

Light's eyes opened and darted to L, enjoying his candy.

L's obsidian eyes met Light's and he sucked harder.

Light's face flushed pink.

L smiled the tiniest amount, then turned calmly back to his desk, picking up a pencil. With a small flick of his wrist the object bounced to the floor.

"Oops." L said calmly, stepping out of his chair and bending down to pick it up, showing off the flexibility of his body.

Light's eyes went wide.

He felt one of Misa's hands find his nipple under his shirt.

He yelped and leapt to his feet, managing to call out, "Headache, taking the afternoon off!" before bolting from the room and upstairs.

Misa and L glanced at one another.

"Misa had better check on Light-kun!" She chirped girlishly, before skipping over to the stairs.

L bit his thumb, a sly smirk crossing his face. "I find this suspicious, I will follow Light-kun, just to make sure he's not doing anything wrong."

He met the other two outside their room.

Light was still blushing faintly. "You two will be the death of me…" he leant over and gave both of them a kiss on the cheek. "Come on, inside, before anyone comes along."

Misa and L's eyes met again.

Silently they called a truce.


	75. Mirror

#75 Mirror

When someone you love dies, you get over it by slow disassociation.

Things like their favourite food slowly become 'just some jam' though you still can't bear to eat any.

Their room is just 'another bedroom' of the hundreds already in the house.

Their precious items get put in a box and carefully stored away in the vast attic, gathering dust like they ought to be in your memory.

And slowly life should begin again, as you slowly forget everything about them.

Of course, there's always supposed to be a faint twinge of pain, when you catch sight of something that reminds you forever of them, but with time, that too cane fade to the smallest pang of soft sadness.

Not so for L.

Not for the man who saw one of his best friends kill.

Not for the man who captured him and watched him in the prison cell day after day.

Not for the man who knew in his heart that what Beyond Birthday needed was treatment, not imprisonment.

But he was too rational for anyone else to agree. And while L had power, he didn't have enough to get BB out of there.

And then Kira took him.

L had sworn blind revenge on that day.

But none of that mattered, because he could never ever get over the death. It wasn't humanly possible.

BB's ghost was with him all the time. Giggling into his head and whispering twisted nursery rhymes.

And all L could do was screw his eyes shut and cry silently in the middle of the night.

He tries everything to make himself forget, but it isn't possible.

He knows exactly why.

Because every time he happens to see his reflection, in a mirror, or any reflective surface, BB is alive again and laughing.

With the smallest change to their story, L knows, it could have been him who went so dangerously insane, who lost their life.

It's not nice knowing your reflection can be so twisted.

At night, sometimes, he dreams of being trapped in a hall of mirrors.

A voice laughs at him as he stumbles blindly into the glass, trying to find a way out, disorientated.

He whimpers and keeps running.

He skids to a halt, finding a mirror that is different.

The image is splattered with blood (or is it just jam? Please, god, let it be just jam…) and grinning.

A knife is resting in it's hand.

L backs away.

The reflection, with horribly disjointed movements, pulls itself out of the frame, and follows him into the maze of mirrors.


	76. Broken Pieces

#76 Broken Pieces

The first thing she saw when she came home that day, from the expensive private school her parents sent her to, was the photo frame.

When she stepped through the door, skipping, there it was, deliberately left on the doorstep. Because _he_ had wanted her to see it.

Shattered glass.

Broken.

Pieces of it in the carpet.

So many little lines in a spiders web running all over the faces of those she loved and needed the most.

Slowly, she knelt and picked it up.

Her face had none of those little lines. The shatter ran all around her but not over.

Suddenly afraid, she called out into the dark house, "Mommy?"

No answer came.

"Daddy?"

Still silence but for the rain outside.

"Jirou-chan?"

No happy giggle from her little brother.

Swallowing, she stepped into the house.

Even with the pounding rain outside, there was silence in the house.

Her eyes fluttered around the hall.

No-one…

She heard a faint squelch beneath her foot, feeling damp through her sock, she looked down.

There was something dark, and red, over the carpet.

Though she begged them not to internally, her big blue eyes followed the pool to its source.

There was daddy, half-way out of the living room, shirt soaked through, eyes wide open, staring endlessly upwards. Slices and cuts adorned his face, small, faint trails of that red liquid running from them to join the rest.

Later the police would theorise he was trying to stop the attacker.

She fell back against the wall, eyes wide, unable to scream or even breathe.

She forced herself, on her hands and knees, to get away from it. Into the kitchen.

She should have chosen somewhere else.

She realised that when her hand fell upon something cold behind her.

And when she turned to see her mother.

Her eyes were mercifully closed.

It didn't stop the terror as shock took her system and she bolted to her feet, scared out of her mind.

A clatter from upstairs and in her terrified mind she thought, _Jirou, it must be Jirou, he hid up in his room_.

Up the stairs she raced, two or three at a time in her bloodstained socks.

She threw the door of his room open, and smiled.

A lump in the bed, under the covers.

She gasped, "Jirou-chan, it's me, it's ok, I'll make it all better, you just stay hiding!"

She knew she had to call the police, but more important was making Jirou okay.

She wondered where his teddy bear was and reasoned that the toy box would be a good place to start.

She lifted the lid, looked into it…

And the box looked back.

Her brother's head.

In among plushies and toys.

And then, the clatter came again from outside.

She looked up, and through the misty window saw _him_.

He actually smiled, before shimmying away down the tree outside her brother's bedroom.

Then, and only then, did Misa scream.


	77. Test

#77 Test

A cry from down the hall started it.

Roger rolled his eyes and took off running, cardigan blustering behind him like a rather pitiful cape.

As he expected, it was Mello doing the hitting and the incoherent yelling in his native language, a habit of his for when he was truly angry. German was such a good language to be annoyed in.

It was always Mello who was sat on some poor child and slamming his fists into it while a circle of other children around him chanted 'fight!'

Roger grabbed him by the back of his black shirt and hauled the little boy off, leaning forward to see who was the poor victim of his rage this time.

It was Matt. He'd not expected that.

Matt, flat on his back, with a bruised lip, a swelling eye, and another pair of broken glasses on the floor next to him. There were even a few tears running from his good eye.

Roger frowned. "Mello, what on earth is the meaning of this?"

The blonde boy folded his arms and scowled defiantly.

The old man turned his eyes to the victim, "Matt, why was Mello hitting you?"

Sometimes, that boy's loyalty to Mello was very touching. Other days, like today, it was fairly irritating.

Because rather than tell why his best friend was trying to kill him with his bare hands, Matt just looked away, picking up his shattered glasses and fiddling with the bent frames.

Linda, one of the onlookers who had gathered in a tight circle around the beating, piped up at once, "Mello was angry because of Matt's test score!" She pointed at the pin-board on the wall opposite.

Roger raised his weary old eyes to it.

There was the list of how everyone scored in the last exam, with Near, as always, at the very top.

To his surprise, there, second in line, was not 'Kheel, Mihael' but rather, 'Jeevas, Mail'.

Mello, still captured, shrieked another German curse at the red-haired boy, fists swinging against the air.

Matt just turned his face away and mumbled quietly. "I told you Mello… teacher must have added it up wrong."

Roger sighed. "Mello, straight to bed with you, no games, no dinner."

Mello stuck his tongue out. The moment his feet touched the ground again he threw his middle finger up at Matt.

"Don't you bloody DARE come to my room crying when you're scared of the damn dark again!!"

and then the little blonde boy was running back to his room.

Roger shook his head to himself and offered Matt a hand to his feet. "Come along now Matt, you need to see the nurse and then I'd like to have a talk with you."

+_+_+_+_+

Matt had never ever liked Roger's office. It smelt of dust and had too many dead insects in frames on the walls.

"Now then, Matt." Roger said calmly, taking a seat at his desk. "I have checked your teacher's adding, and she has made no mistake, you beat Mello's score."

Matt whined, tugging at one of the plasters on his hand.

"You don't seem happy about that."

Matt shook his head. "I don't want to beat Mello."

Roger raised an eyebrow. Matt was always a mystery to him, he knew very well the boy was smart, at least equal to if not better than Mello, and yet the child was consistently third in every test.

All the other children were competitive about their scores, desperate to work their way up the lines and become the next L. Matt was at third without any sign of effort and seemed more than happy to stay there.

"…Why don't you want to beat Mello? I know he's your best friend, but you shouldn't let that keep you from doing your best."

Matt bit his lip, then shook his head, "It's not cuz Mello's my best friend. Not really. An it's not cuz I don't want to be L." he shrugged his little shoulders.

Roger smiled kindly, or at least tried to, "Then what is the matter, hm?"

Matt blushed faintly, shuffling his feet. "…It means more to Mello. He already nearly kills himself studying tryin to beat Near… if I was beating him too…"

Roger nodded, understanding dawning. "He might become more unstable." his mind flickered for a moment onto A and BB.

It occurred to him that the child sitting in front of him was probably the most sensitive one in the building. So desperately caring about his friend that he deliberately made himself third and kept himself there.

Roger wondered how many times Matt hadn't answered questions he knew the answers to, because it meant more to Mello.

And just this one time, perhaps he'd answered one too many or just assumed Mello would do better than him anyway.

And he paid for it.

He nodded to himself.

"All right then, Mail." He said quietly. "I'll tell you what." He turned to his computer and typed something in, "There, the record now shows that there was a mis-count, and Mello scored higher than you by one point."

Matt's big green eyes lit up. "Really?"

Roger nodded. "And if it means so much to you, I will continue to have your work marked just below Mello's in any exam results that he might see."

Matt nodded and got to his feet, not bothering to ask permission or even say goodbye before he ran off to tell Mello.

Roger smiled faintly to himself.

A voice in his mind muttered that Matt would probably follow Mello until the world ended, and would probably always pretend to be dimmer than he was.

And just because it meant more to Mello to be first.

It was really very touching.


	78. Drink

#78 Drink

He'd always laughed before, when one of his associates, for he had many, dared to suggest he had a drinking problem.

He'd shrug and respond with, "I don't have a problem, I drink and then I fall over. That's not a problem."

He'd been the same since he left the old house.

Oh yes, he'd been one of the children from Wammy's. Of course, he'd been eighteen and about to leave the so-called orphanage of genius' when L had been brought there.

His memories of the boy were muddled images of a tiny child hidden under a mop of black hair.

He'd never looked back once he left the place. He always said it was a bad idea to have an orphanage only for the gifted, intelligence is a hard burden to bear, and a lot of the children developed mental problems.

He'd never thought of himself as one of those children. He could talk to anyone and charm birds from the trees, he wasn't afraid of dealing with the world outside those heavy iron railings around the building.

He went back to France, the place he was born. Using his 'House Alias' he worked his way to the most professional level of crook.

He would have stayed like that forever had he not been too cocky once, and got himself caught by Deneuve.

He was left for a long time in a darkened room, in an uncomfortable plastic chair at a green table that smelled of spilt coffee.

The door opened and in shuffled the man who had caught him.

Not man.

Teenager

A gangly teenager with big black eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner (or did the boy have trouble sleeping?), clad in a plain white shirt and baggy jeans. His bare feet shifted on the floor.

He was almost annoyed at being caught by this creature.

"Hello." It spoke.

This was Deneuve?

"Hello Deneuve. Is it a nice day outside?" He said calmly.

The boy shrugged, "I have been in front of my computer solving your little crime for a week."

He grinned. "I'm flattered it took you so long. I suppose, however, L would have worked it out in a day."

The boy tilted his head, "Oh? You know of L?"

He smiled calmly. "You could say that." He sighed and stretched his limbs, "I suppose there's no chance of a glass of red?"

The boy frowned a little, "Wouldn't you rather be sober?"

"I won't get drunk from one glass, any idiot will tell you it takes more than that." He rolled his eyes and looked at the boy again.

Something in his long black hair, maybe, or those deep black eyes. Maybe it was just the very slight Winchester accent on the edge of the boy's voice.

Whatever it was, something struck him as familiar.

"…L, is that you?" he questioned.

The very slight widening of those eyes told him yes.

He laughed heartily, "The last time I saw you, you were only a little boy!" he gestured one hand to the table, "No taller that this!"

L blushed. "…I suspected that these crimes were committed by someone with very high intelligence. You attended Wammy's house?"

Aiber nodded, "I left about a week after you arrived."

L frowned a little, trying to recall. "…Thierry Morrelle?"

The blonde Frenchman nodded, "I go by Aiber. Can't be too careful, after all." He chuckled, "So can I throw myself on your mercy as a fellow member of Wammy's?"

L sighed, "…It was never my intention to imprison you, Aiber. I could use a man with your skills in some of my other cases. An ample salary would be provided, of course."

That was all Aiber had needed to know. He'd agreed instantly, they'd shaken hands, and L had turned to leave.

Something occurred to Aiber.

"L, could you tell me how you managed to catch me? Just out of curiosity."

L had glanced back over one of his thin shoulders. It occurred to Aiber then just how good-looking the boy would be if he just made the effort with his hair and clothes.

"You have expensive taste in wine. I merely had to trace the purchases to your various hideouts."

After that, Aiber always claimed that he did not have a drinking problem, unless you counted being easily traceable as a problem.


	79. Starvation

#79 Starvation

Navy blue eyes darted over the contents of the small, barely-working fridge. They narrowed in anger, and the door was slammed by arms that were much stronger than they looked.

"Matt, where's all my chocolate?"

Across the room, slumped over the cracked leather couch, was Matt, sprawled in such a way that he managed to take up all the space.

"You ate it all."

Mello scowled, marching over to the sofa and placing his leather-clad hands on his bare waist, his most intimidating glare plastered across his still so handsome features.

He snarled out slowly, "Then go get me more."

Matt lowered his hand-held to peer through yellow plastic at the older man.

That look might have worked on Mafia members, and basically everyone else in the world, but Matt was made of sterner stuff.

Besides, you didn't stay friends with Mello for this long without growing immune to the glare.

"You gotta be kidding. It's three am, man. No-where's open."

Mello scowled, reaching to the gun securely placed in the crotch of his leather pants.

Matt rolled his eyes, "Plenty of pasta and stuff." He shut the little game in his hands with a click, "I could make you something."

Mellos glare intensified, smelling a rat instantly. "Matt, this had better not be another plan of yours to cut me off. Because we know what happened last time, don't we?" His navy eyes flickered onto the packet of cigs on the coffee table.

Matt snatched it up, "Yeah, you tied me up with no smokes for two days."

Mello smirked, posing for a moment, sexier than any super model and he knew it. "Precisely. You worry about that nice big tumour you're growing, not the huge mass of diabetes I'm giving myself."

Matt frowned. "You really don't know how to react to people caring about you, do you?"

Mello halted.

Matt avoided his eyes, "I mean, you want everyone to pay attention to you, but if someone actually tries to show you that they love you, ya get all defensive and cruel." The gamer shrugged his shoulders. "It's like you're scared you might feel something."

For a moment, there was a heavy silence.

One of those slightly awkward silences that were becoming more common between them these days. Of course they both knew why.

Because after so many years apart, they'd grown up. And neither of them had been expecting the other to grow up from a gangly and awkward looking teenager into an attractive young man.

That left them here.

Desperatly wanting one another, too afraid of the reaction to make the first move.

Matt making these token gestures, trying to show he cared. He genuinely _cared_ what happened to Mello.

The blonde coughed. "So what's your plan, starve me until I eat healthy stuff?"

Matt nodded, "Pretty much."

The blonde snarled and began ransacking all the cupboards and furniture for any piece of his addictive sweet.

A few minutes angry searching suddenly yeilded results, and he leapt up, holding up a small round pot and laughing in triumph.

Matt squinted at it. "Is that body-paint? Are you actually gonna eat that?" he questioned incredulously. "Nasty."

Mello stuck out his tongue, then raised an eyebrow.

A small smile crossed his scarred face, "So let me just establish the facts here. You are refusing to go and buy me more chocolate, and the only chocolate-based thing left in this apartment is something that probably tastes best when slathered over a naked, sweaty body?"

Matt blushed and nodded, not sure if he liked that evil gleam in Mello's eyes.

And then the blonde man dove onto him, and he couldn't think anymore.

+_+_+_+_+

Matt grumbled slightly into the pillow, feeling his goggles being thrown at his bare back.

"Get your ass out of bed and go fetch more chocolate."

He muttered a reply and started to disentangle himself from the sheets, unable to stop the slight grin on his face as he listened to the shower running in the bathroom and thought of the gorgeous blonde within.

It was only when he was paying for the twenty-something bars of the sweet stuff that he realised Mello had got his chocolate after all.


	80. Words

# 80 Words

Words, words, words.

Ever wonder how many you'll hear in your lifetime? It's a mind-boggling thought when you consider it. Even excluding languages from other countries, and concentrating only on the ones in your homeland, you'll never hear all of them.

Think about how many words there are just for a single phrase.

Any phrase will do.

How about this one?  
The sweetest words you will ever hear.

And lets see how many ways there are to say it.  
+_+_+_+_+

Matt sighed as he stared mindlessly at the laptop in front of him. He muttered something and flicked his cell phone open and pressed the button that automatically dialled _him_.

"Any news?"

He rolled his eyes, straight to business as always. "Nah, just missed the sound of your voice."

He heard the irritated sigh, but knew in his heart Mello was blushing pleasantly, he always did when someone genuinely cared.

"I told you not to call unless you had something important to tell me." Mello snapped.

Matt grinned, "I do. Mello, you speak Spanish, right?"

On the other end of the phone, Mello made his patented 'What the hell' face, "Yeah, a bit."

"Yanno I'm from Spain?"

Mello growled, "Matt, you'd better have a point to this or…

"Te amo, mi bella Mihael. Te amo." (1)

He hung up before Mello's mind could translate the sweet words.

+_+_+_+_+

Rem watched her brushing her long blonde locks with aching eyes.

"Something wrong, Remu?"

Rem blinked, then shook her head, "No, Misa."

Misa giggled, turning on her chair, "You like my hair, don't you?" she ran her fingers through it, the spun gold catching on her manicured nails.

Rem fought the blush that wrestled its way to her face. "What gave you that idea?"

She laughed brightly, it sounded like breaking crystal. "You always watch when I brush it, silly!" her expression softened, "Is it because yours is…" she trailed off, not wanting to insult her faithful shinigami.

Rem shook her head, "It's all right, Misa. I am not concerned with my appearance."

Misa bit her lip, thinking. Then she smiled and offered the brush to Rem, "You can brush it for me if you'd like?"

She did. And gently, too. As though she might break Misa by brushing her fine golden hair too hard.

She sighed, watching Misa's face, she looked so relaxed and happy.

"Ya tebya lyublyu." (2) Rem mumbled sadly to herself. Misa didn't seem to hear.

+_+_+_+_+

His head rested on Matt's lap. Letting the red-head stroke his hair and shoulder.

He hadn't felt so warm and safe in years.

He nuzzled the jean-covered knee and mumbled peacefully, "Ich liebe dich."(3)

The hand stopped on his arm for a moment.

"Does that mean what I think?" came that voice, gravel-y with smoke.

"I don't know, are you thinking it means 'Sit there and be an idiot'?" Mello returned snappishly.

The gamer laughed over him and continued to stroke that pale arm. "Whatever, boss."

+_+_+_+_+

Light's eyes fixed on the computer screen in front of him.

"Light-kun should go to bed, he'll destroy his eyes." Came the insistent voice from behind him.

Light smirked, "I notice you don't apply the same argument to yourself, Ryuzaki."

The detective frowned, a light blush coming to his papery cheeks. "I'm used to it. Light-kun should still go and sleep."

Light sighed and rose from his chair, stroking a hand over the detective's painfully thin shoulders as he walked around behind him and towards the bed in the corner of the room.

L waited until he was 99 percent sure Light was asleep before mumbling, "Aishiteru." (4)

+_+_+_+_+

L fell asleep in his chair.

He awoke when he felt movement around him, and peered blearily around the room.

He looked to his shoulders and saw one of the blankets from the hotel bed was wrapped around his shoulders. He stared at it for a moment, then glanced over at the bed.

Light was either still fast asleep, or pretending to be.

L smiled, and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

So you see, it's possible to say that phrase without saying a single word.

_(1) I love you, my beautiful Mihael, I love you.- Spanish  
__(2) I love you. –Russian, because I don't speak Shinigami  
__(3) I love you –German  
(4) I love you- Japanese_

:) There, now you know how to say 'I love you' in four languages


	81. Pen and Paper

#81 Pen and Paper

Here's a little lesson for you; it's one I've learned from studying criminal minds over several years.

Guns do not kill people.

People kill.

But the gun makes it easier.

It's a very simple thing when you really think about it. The kind of weapon changes how personal a crime is.

Killing someone with your bare hands, can you imagine how close you have to be?

How much _effort_ it takes? Humans are built to survive, and they'll kick and fight and bite back until you break them utterly.

You have to know someone very well to kill them with your hands.

You have to be close enough to watch the light fade away from their eyes. You have to _feel _their flesh run cold all at once under your fingertips.

I could never do that, not even with the person I hated most.

Next on the list is knives.

It's much easier to stab someone you don't know. But it can still make you shudder and vomit afterwards when you realise the wetness on your hand is their blood.

It's so easy to detach yourself from a blade that slides in and out of flesh like butter.

But soon enough sudden reality catches you, and then it forces you to loose sleep and hear monsters in every corner of your room until finally you realise the only monster there is you.

But I am no monster.

And so I never ever used a knife to kill anyone.

I never puked my insides out over anyone I killed.

Now guns…

Guns are not weapons; they are machines for killing people.

And when you understand that sentence you understand why people shouldn't be allowed to have them.

It's too much like a game.

It makes it too easy to remove yourself.

Oh yes, there needs to be someone there behind the gun pulling the trigger, but how much do you need to connect to a person you shoot?

It's only a little thing… a tiny click and a bang, and it's all over.

You don't even have to watch them die.

But all of that pales in comparison to the death notebook.

Because all you have to know is a name and a face. Next to nothing.

A quick scribble and that's it, you never have to think about or see anything about them ever again.

Unless you know the person, it's the ultimate weapon.

… Unless…

Perhaps…

That was L's plan all along?

Force me to learn about him? To put that name and face together and place with it the intimate knowledge of a man who was my friend?

Because when you know someone…

_He loves strawberries._

_He only smiles when he's doing something clever or perverted._

_He has a habit of stacking everything he can get his hands on._

…it's much harder to put pen to paper.

_Sorry about the long wait on this one, X_X been going through a tough time at school etc. etc. Apologies :)_


	82. Can you Hear me?

#82 Can you hear me?

In an old house somewhere in Winchester, in the dead of the witching hour, when the real and unreal aren't separate, something stirs.

A breeze floats down the old chimney and ruffles the neatly-hung row of children's jackets along one wall.

One of the floorboards somewhere in the kitchens creaks.

Something unseen brushes against the tablecloth in the dining hall and makes the neat place settings shudder.

Then the footsteps.

Regular as the passing of time and thousand times more terrifying. Nothing is climbing the stairs, and yet something is.

Nothing is causing those old wooden steps to give their small creaks, but they creak all the same. There's a sound of skin sliding against wood, a child's hand on the banister.

In their bedrooms, those who have awoken pull their blankets up over their heads and pull themselves into foetal balls of fear. Those who are lucky enough to have slept on whimper and frown at odd dreams.

It should be expected, surely? So often adolescents are the centres of strange activities, and this is a house filled with children and teenagers, all of who's mental prowess puts them ahead of any normal child.

But no-one expected this. And the children do not tell the adults, because they don't think they would be believed.

Hundreds of children devoid of families close their eyes and keep whispering over and over to themselves not to be afraid, it's not real.

The wiser of them whisper that it's real, but it's not going to come for them.

Whatever it is, it's reached the dormitory floor now.

They hear the stairs cease to creak and the child whose bedroom is nearest the hall hears the soft sound of breathing.

They all know the routine by now.

The bedroom doors all fly open at once, soundlessly.

Silently, they begin to count into their pillows. One hundred and six. The number of steps it takes for whatever's in the hall to make it all the way to the door at the other end of the hall.

Some of the children have crucifixes on their bedroom doors.

Or they used to. Until the first night it came, and ripped them all down.

One girl hung a dream-catcher on her doorknob once.

It was found in the garden in pieces.

Now no-one hangs anything on their door.

Fifteen steps down.

That's when the smell starts.

It's not unpleasant, but the children hate it.

The scent of Strawberries.

But it's sickly-sweet, makes the air taste sticky and hard to breathe.

In one of the rooms one of the girls starts to cry into a pillow, muffling her whimpers.

Thirty.

The sound gets more real then. The footsteps sound heavier and more solid, and the children force their faces into their pillows because despite all their intelligence they know with the horrible certainty of childhood that if they look through their open doors now, it will be there, and it'll be real.

Fifty.

Some of the children bite their pillows to keep from making any sound that might tell it they're awake.

The strawberry smell gets stronger.

Seventy.

A chilly frost starts to flood into the bedrooms. The children tug their blankets tighter around themselves. None of them are asleep now, and somehow they know that it wants them awake.

They dare not find out why, and pretend to be sleeping on.

Ninety.

Now the laughter starts.

Insane, giddy laughing. Echoing loudly in each child's ears without bothering to travel through the air.

And it _keeps_ changing, as though the laughing creature can't decide which one sounds best.

One hundred.

One.

Two.

Three

Four

They _hear_ it reaching forward eagerly.

Five.

Six.

They hear the doorknob of the room at the end of the hall twist, click, open.

In the room, Near is sitting up in bed. He doesn't flinch.

"Hello BB." He says calmly and quietly.

There is no reply, there never is.

Near calmly sighs, "You never change, or are you so mad that now your memory fails?" he folds his neat white arms. "You are not welcome here."

Were anyone watching, they would see at the side of the bed a pale gold mist of light appear.

And though nothing has changed at all, the children all sigh and relax, because they can feel that _it_ is gone.

In his room, Near hears voices. Three. Mingled and disjointed, he can't make out any of the words, but he knows the voices and he hopes he understands their intent.

Those are the voices of the three boys from Wammy's house who died in the name of justice.

He nods, "I can hear you."


	83. Heal

#83 Heal

He'd been bored.

That was his excuse for a lot of things, he'd been bored as hell and just wanted out. Okay, Mello was probably going to skin him alive later for sneaking out of the church during the Carol service, but frankly all the young Matt cared about was getting the hell away from all the religious iconography and out into the fresh, cold air.

Shivering, the ten year old pulled his bodywarmer tighter around his thin frame and leant on the wall of the church.

This was really more Mello's thing anyway, Matt would rather be back at the house wrapped in a quilt in front of the fireplace, Mario or Sonic or Crash Bandicoot skidding about in front of his goggle-covered eyes.

He sighed, listening to the carols that floated through the walls and windows of the old building while he watched the snow falling in large flakes.

It was gorgeous out here.

Everything had a glittery blanket over it, the snow made pleasing crunching sounds under his wellingtons (1), even the cold was a pleasant tingle.

He decided to occupy himself as best he could, and reached to the ground, packing the ice into a lump with his gloved hands.

He wondered on throwing it at one of the windows, then thought better of it. Knowing his luck he'd smash it and on top of being in horrendous trouble, Mello would never speak to him again.

He started to roll his ice-ball in the snow, making a bigger and bigger lump as he threaded it in and out of the gravestones and around the church. When he judged it big enough he crouched in the cold and started to try and shape it.

Then he heard a noise.

He looked up and saw something he had not expected at all.

L.

L crouched in front of some graves, eyes closed.

Was he praying?

Matt swallowed and started to try and move away, re-stepping in his footprints to avoid the crunch.

"You don't have to leave, you're not disturbing me."

He stopped. "Sorry."

L stood up and looked over his shoulder, he looked so out-of-place in that large white coat, buttoned to his nose. "You can come see if you want."

Matt approached slowly, not wanting to say no to the greatest mind in Wammy's house.

Once close enough, he read the names on the graves.

'Here lies Harold Lawliet and his beloved wife Ann Lawliet'

'Here lies Oliver Lawliet, taken from the world too young'

He swallowed. "…who were they?"

L shrugged calmly. "My family."

Matt very nearly fell over. He'd never thought of the mysterious L as having a family. He mentally smacked himself; L _didn't_ have a family anymore, evidently.

L smiled a little at the boy's obvious surprise. "Despite appearances, L is a human being with a mother and father like everyone else."

Matt wondered for a moment what he was supposed to say, then remembered that he wasn't thinking type, he just said what came to him and hoped for the best.

"What about the little one?"

"L's baby brother." L replied.

"What killed them?"

L blinked, and a subtle change came over him. The edges of his pointed form that made him look like a Tim Burton drawing smoothed out. He shifted slightly and the snow seemed to put him out of focus.

"You're too little to have heard about the Winchester Bombings." L muttered. "A madman was going around blowing up the homes of rich and privileged people."

"He blew your house up?" Matt questioned earnestly.

L shook his head; "I would not be alive if he had. He bombed the house next to mine. The fire spread to the roof of my home." He closed his eyes tightly, a memory flooding back fast. "The smoke took my mother and father before they woke up… I ran… but…" he swallowed hard. "He was so little… he couldn't see where to go…"

Matt bit his lip, understanding at once the guilt of not having done something to protect the family you loved so dearly.

"I should have gone back for him." L mumbled.

Matt shook his head. "Man, you were only a little kid, you were probably scared out of the damn mind. I woulda been. No-one can blame you for not doing anything."

L sighed. "L still feels guilty. And Matt should practise what he preaches."

Matt tilted his head, blinking blankly.

"Roger has told L that Matt blames himself for his mother's passing."

This time it was Matt who screwed his eyes shut. His breathing shortened as he recalled how his father smacked her around, made her cry helplessly every day, and how all he did was hide. He remembered how softly she said goodbye to him that morning as he left for school, then she went and threw herself in a river.

A warm hand planted itself on his shoulder. "It's all right. L should not have invoked her memory."

Matt shook his head, "Madre…" (2)

L's hand slid down Matt's arm and grasped a snow-soaked glove. "Come on. L will take you back to Wammy's house. We can sit and mourn together in the warmth."

They say that time heals all wounds.

Except for those on the heart. The ones that tell you softly that _'Yes, you should have done something.'_

(1) Galoshes for you Americans

(2) Spanish for 'Mother'


	84. Out of the Cold

#84 Out of the cold

Any other baby would have been found right away.

Any other baby would have cried its eyes out until warm arms picked it up.

Any other baby…

But he hadn't been any other baby.

And he had not cried. It was only luck and the grace of god that someone spotted the pastel blue blanket in the snowdrift.

He was found around the edge of the general store.

This wasn't a big town, population 500, up in Alaska, a tiny town, and last point of civilisation for miles around. A place where everyone still knew everyone else. A place to come from, but not a place to stay.

_Someone _should have known whose baby he was.

_Someone_ should have come forward.

But no-one did. And no-one claimed ownership of this tiny white foundling, whose only comfort had been a thin blue blanket.

The general store owner took him in, raised him to the age of three.

Until it became clear that there was something 'not right' about the boy. The suspicious older people of the town whispered tales that the boy was no human, but a child of some forgotten snow-god.

He wore only white. He was albino, and his eyes were soft pink in colour. He frightened the other children with his blank stares. He forgot to eat for days on end and didn't understand the need for sleep. He was too intelligent for his young age.

Then one day the strange man came.

The people gossiped about it for months afterwards, whispering that it was some government plot, or witchcraft, or any number of other nonsensical tales.

The truth of the matter was that an elderly gentleman and a teenage boy he introduced as his grandson turned up in the general store one afternoon, and the old gent lifted his hat, and asked if he might speak to them about their adopted son.

The toddler in question was outside. Sitting in the snowdrift he had been told he was found in.

"Hello."

He looked up, blinking his pink eyes at the stranger.

A boy, much older than him, with messy black hair and deep black eyes. A long white coat was buttoned around him untidily, jeans covered his skinny legs.

Nate nodded in response.

The boy trod a little closer, then crouched, still a good distance away. "My name is L. What's yours?"

The as-yet undetected aspergers syndrome in the little boy's mind forced him silent. He didn't like new things, strangers, things he couldn't control.

L didn't seem to mind. He nodded to the shop. "My friend Watari is in there now. He's asking your mum and dad if it'd be okay for you to come with us. To a special… school."

Nate blinked.

"I thought I should come and ask if _you_ would mind it? I know you're only little, but you're entitled to a say in what happens."

Nate observed the older boy for a moment. His mechanical way of speaking, though he was clearly trying very hard to sound amicable, the odd crouch, the slight fidgeting.

"You have Autism." Nate spoke very softly.

L blinked, then nodded.

There was silence between them for a moment.

Nate frowned, confused. "…L will go with me to this school?"

"Of course."

Nate offered a tiny white hand.

L knew how huge a thing this was, Nate was showing he trusted someone who was a relative stranger. He knew this meant he would probably be responsible for much of the little boy's care, as he would be listened to more than others would.

He smiled and took the tiny white palm in his own pale hand, and led him back inside, out of the cold.


	85. Spiral

#85 Spiral

Pathetic.

A life wasted.

Father.

Who?  
There was no father. There was a vague father-like presence, which vanished suddenly and violently.

Mother.

The ultimate gift.

Working for hours and hours into the night.

Trying to provide.

A faint memory of a school uniform, too small, but all she could afford. The anger of selfish youth. Her tears, silent and ashamed, around a corner where she thought she wouldn't be seen.

The times he lied about parents evenings, not wanting her to come, straight from work, still in the hideous checked dress uniform.

She was his shame.

The wicked ones.

Their teasing and laughing. The countless pairs of broken glasses and bruises, purple and yellow.

The comforting thanks of the helpless.

And later, their yells for him to leave them alone.

But then…

They started dying.

Because he _wished _it.

Never did he think it was _his_ power. No, someone had chosen him.

He was their unholy messenger.

The angel of death, sent by the lord to cleanse the world of wickedness.

His shame, shattered, lying on the pavement in a blood pool, arms and legs twisted unnaturally.

How he ran home and laughed into a pillow, because she had told him only the day before that he couldn't continue to believe he was responsible for protecting the weak and ungrateful.

Light Yagami.

God.

No, no, he was no god.

He was a wicked liar, and that was why the true god had taken him. Had humiliated him, left him begging for his life.

Yes…

And he was still the angel of death… but now beyond forgiveness, he followed and false idol, and now all there was, was white walls and bouts of rage and misery.

The room spun, sometimes.

Sometimes the walls flooded with red.

Sometimes creatures' unseen laughed at him until he screamed loud enough to silence them.

He backed to a corner of the room.

Stood, calculating carefully what had to be done.

False idol.

Lord, bless me, for I have sinned.

Forgive me, for I am weak.

Receive me, for I am weary.

Lead me, for I am lost.

He ran, head first, into the opposite wall, slammed into it full-force.

Fell back and let unconsciousness do its work.

So he did not feel the blood clot in the back of his brain burst.

The room spun, just once more.


	86. Seeing Red

Seeing Red

_For my Mellos, Seme and Uke, love you both! - Matty_

If he keeps talking like this for much longer, I swear to god I'll---

Who am I kidding?

I couldn't do anything to hurt Mello. I mean, I'm bigger and stronger than he is, even though I'm younger, but I could never hurt him.

Even if he is a thoughtless prick.

Even though he's sitting on the couch, taking up as much space as he possibly can, on the phone to Near.

I hate hearing them talk to each other about this case, even if Mello tends to be arguing with Near. I don't want them talking. Back at Wammy's, I didn't even like it when they were in the same room.

I can't help it. It's like with my games and shit, I just don't want to share anything that I'm _certain_ is mine.

And Mello might not know it, but he's mine. Always has been.

Okay, so the way we act it's more like I'm his faithful pet puppy or something, but seriously, I do that because I want Mello to use me. If I always snapped back at him when he was getting cocky, I'd still be at Wammy's.

I can put up with it. I can. It's only a phone call after all, and they're only talking about the case.

I can just stare at the tv with sonic racing madly around on it and not have to think about Mello and that little sheep cripple Near.

"…You what?"

Perk up a little and look at Mello's reflection in the screen.

His features have softened a little. He reaches up one gloved hand to touch the scar.

"…No, it doesn't hurt too bad anymore."

Why is he smiling like that? How _dare_ he smile like that?

It's not fair, I'm the one who bandaged and cleaned that gaping mess in the side of his face for weeks on end. I'm the one who put up with him shrieking when the medicine stung, I'm the one who keeps telling him day after day that his skin could be all scar tissue, and he'd still be beautiful.

Near asks about it once and gets a smile?

Mello hangs up the phone and eyes the back of my head. "You died again."

I glare at the screen, "Sick of it anyway." Switch the console off and take out a cig, it'll calm my temper.

Snap. Mello's eating his chocolate. I went out and got it for him in the rain.

"I hate to say it, but Near reminds me of L." He comments. "When he's attempting to be nice anyway."

Damn L.

He was even worse than Near. Whenever he showed up and the orphanage you were like a little schoolgirl, following him around and agreeing with whatever the hell he said. It never mattered that I was _always_with you every other day, when L was around, you didn't want me anywhere near.

That's not even the thing that bothers me most. It's that I'm not even your second choice. No, that'd be Near, even though you'd deny it. If you can't have L, you'll seduce Near one day, because he's close enough.

I'm not even _third!_

That'd be that mafia guy. Don't act like you didn't shag your way to the top of the organised crime ring. I'm not stupid; I can work it out based on implications. And how the hell else is a pretty kid like you going to get all that power? Not just through your brains.

I'm not even in the top ten, am I? I'm the choice that comes before you shoot yourself in the head.

"Hey Matt. Matt. Matty."

I turn and breathe out nicotine. "Yeah?"

"You ever think about L? Do you think he'd be proud?"

That's it.

I'm going to beat the living crap out of him. It's not fair, it's not. I get up and shove him off the couch, deliver a swift kick to the shin before the yell of confusion and rage has left his lips.

You're a predictable fighter. You try and copy that weird kickboxing thing L did, but I've beaten enough fighting games to know what works. Buttonmashing. Hammering every single limb at once and only stopping when the opponent stops moving.

The apartment's a mess when it's over.

Both our blood's on the wall, we're both cut in various places.

I won though. You're in a shivering little ball whimpering.

Whimpering…

Oh Mells…

"My fuffing fafe.."

Your face? Oh christ, I punched you on the bad side, didn't I? Must hurt like hell.

I lean down and pick you up bodily. Carry you to the bedroom, set you down and start tending to the wounds and bruises.

After a while, you mutter, "What the hell was that about?"

I sigh. "Stupid stuff. Stupid _Matt_ stuff."

You sigh, "Tell me. You kicked the crap out of me, the least you can do is tell me."

Damn you, Manipulative Mello.

"I hate L. And Near. And all the other guys."

You raise an eyebrow, "What other-"

"You know what I'm talkin about. Your guys. All the dudes you've thought were worthy of ya." Dab cotton wool on a particularly deep scratch. You hiss. "I just… hate that they got your attention. I'm the one who looks after ya, Mello."

The confusion on your face breaks my heart.

"No big deal." I mutter, getting up and walking to the door, "Seriously. I always knew I'd be the last choice."

"Matty-"

Save it. I don't need to hear the comfort, or the excuses of 'we're just too close as friends'. I just want to crawl under some stairs for the rest of my life.

"…I thought you liked girls… if I'd known…" Soft sigh, "Matty, with me, you're always the first choice."


	87. Pain

#87 Pain  
_For my Darling Sa-chan, I told you I'd do it!_

He lay there, in the dust, and screamed. Over and over he screamed, because he refused to believe the truth, that his life was forfeit.

Around him, the shinigami laughed.

"Wuss, doesn't hurt that bad." Deridovely growled, poking the boy with the end of his scythe.

On the ground, the boy snarled and tried to claw at the creature. It merely laughed and leant down, "It's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better, you little wimp."

The boy reached again to claw at the thing, but fell and curled into a foetal ball, screaming in his own personal universe of agony. One of his arms stretched and contorted, bone lengthening and stretching the skin almost to tearing point.

The circle of shinigami parted slightly, a voice cutting the silence.

"Hey, what's going on? Apples?"

As Ryuk stepped into the boy's view, he lunged forward with renewed strength and very nearly caught the creature's face in outstretched, claw-like fingers, but then one of his legs fell away beneath him.

Ryuke laughed, "Hi Light. 'sup?"

"I HATE YOU!"

Gukku sniggered and tugged Ryuk's arm, "Kira's not taking the transformation well. Keeps screaming like a little girl."  
"SHUT U-AAAAAAAAAGH!"

Ryuk winced at the noise, then turned to the assembled shinigami, "All right guys, show's over, I'll let ya know when it's getting good again."

Grumbling, the reapers turned and went back to their games of dice and skulls, none of them willing to argue with Ryuk, whose rank was suspiciously higher since his time on earth.

Ryuk himself remained by the screaming human, crouching down to it's level and holding up one hand. An apple, deep red, appeared in it. "Apple, Light?"

"BITE ME!"

Ryuk shrugged his bony shoulders and bit the fruit. "Suit yourself."

For a moment the shinigami observed the screams and twitches of his former human. Then he sighed, (if Shinigami can sigh) and spoke, in a softer voice, "It'll hurt less if ya just relax." He smirked, "But you never chill out, do ya, Light?"

He crunched the fruit a few times. Light's screams grew worse.

"I know, I'll tell ya a story!" Ryuk declared, moving to sit properly on the dusty earth. Without waiting for the doubtless negative reply that Light would give, he began to speak in his snake-like tones.

"Once upon a time, like, 500 years ago or something… you're good at this history stuff. Japan was at war, blah blah, samurais, emperor's, all that human stuff." Ryuk said calmly, "This here's a story about the man who had the note before you. Before a lot of people, come to that."

_He was a samurai. But not just any Samurai, he was the greatest and most powerful in feudal Japan. And why? Because should a lord hire him as a blade, he could be sure of his enemy's death. For this man had the death scroll. The Death note… because they take the form of whatever's most appropriate._

_This Samurai was without a true master for many years, a mere hired blade, until one day a wealthy family took him into their army. In that family there was a son._

_He was so handsome, so rarely perfect in his features, fine black hair like ebony wood, eyes as gold as the sunlight itself. Yet the boy had yet to wed any of the many beautiful young ladies whom threw themselves upon him._

_This was because the boy knew precisely what he desired, and he saw it in the samurai. Many nights he would watch the man train into the early hours, and one night, he grew the courage brave enough to step out of the shadows he hid in, and confessed his feelings to the samurai warrior._

_Happily, the Samurai felt similarly for the handsome creature he was charged to protect. However they knew their love could never be in this fortress. Together they made plans to run away, to find a place to call their own where they could be with one another forever. They pledged their hearts to one another. The boy presented the samurai with an earring of a silver heart, and the samurai gave the boy his most precious possession, his death scroll, with the condition that the boy never ever write anything upon the enchanted page._

_But some things, even love cannot surpass. Curiosity, after all, killed the cat, drove Pandora to open the box of all evils, and pushed the boy to see the powers of the note._

_He wrote the names of enemies. And then of servants whom made him angry. And finally, of his parents, reasoning that he would have the kingdom._

_The Samurai, seeing this destruction, tried so hard to retrieve the note, realising too late the boy was too foolish to understand the power._

_But when the boy saw the man approaching, his selfishness grew too great, and to save his miserable life, he wrote the Samurai's name._

Ryuk tilted his head. "So the story goes, the samurai cursed the boy, so his soul would one day be born again, and the Samurai would find him and teach him the penalty of power."

Light breathed slowly, the pain was less now, he could speak, move, and feel none of the agony he had thought would never stop. "…What were their names, Ryuk?"

Ryuk smiled and observed the creature before him. Long black limbs, clothes bound tight, resembling a tattered kimono, with leather strapping around the slender waist. The face was pure white, no nose, but a mouth, with teeth jutting from the blue lips. His eyes were the same though.

Nothing can change it's original eyes. They were still the same caramel colour they had always been; though now they were darker, deader.

But oh, to Ryuk's eyes, he'd never be anything less than perfect.

"The Samurai was called Raenuk Kii." He replied, pointing to his silver heart earring. "And the boy went by the name Hikaru, which means…"

"…Light." Kira whispered.


	88. Food

#88 Food

Hello there, it is I, the death note, once again putting pen to… well, I suppose myself.

Here to speak to you of why Shinigami love apples so much, because despite what that troublemaker Ryuk says, it is nothing to do with rarity value, nor juiciness, though that is an element of it, shinigami have very highly-developed senses, including taste.

It's down to religion.

One of your religions, in fact. Now it is not my place to tell you what is true and what is not, but I will tell you that apples are indeed the fruit and source of knowledge.

Once there was _a_ tree of knowledge, if it was a gift from a god or just happy coincidence, is not for me to say, I am but a mere notebook of death, after all.

Your ancestors harvested the fruit and shared it among themselves, and with the wisdom they gained they made all those pitiful things you're all so proud of. The wheel and fire and all of those other things that nature had already perfected in its own form.

The trouble is that your weak ancestors grew greedy. Greed is the downfall of your species.

You can never be happy with what you have, can you? There's always something more. Something dancing just out of your reach, and you will consume all to get it.

Your ancestors took all the fruit the tree had to offer. Devoured it and grew wiser with each bite.

They did this day after day, until finally, one day, they bit the fruit… and knew nothing else.

Oh, they tried all kinds of things, they grew new trees, they travelled across the world to find ways to make the fruit give them the wisdom they craved again, until time did its work and they forgot the taste of knowledge all together. Only stories remained.

What?

Oh, what caused the fruit to stop giving them knowledge? What was different about the apples?  
Nothing.

The knowledge is still there, buried in the white flesh of the fruit. What had changed was the people.

They knew _everything_ there was for them to learn. There was no taste because there was nothing left to give. Had they only paced their greed, you could still have that taste for knowledge today.

And that, humans, shinigami, and whatever other creatures may have gathered around to hear my tale, is why shinigami love apples. They can still bite into the flesh and savour the taste of knowledge.


	89. Through the Fire

#89 Through the Fire

When the flames took my hair, I heard her break down the door.

Oh, it hurt, it hurt me more than I had known anything could hurt.

Forget heartache, you haven't felt pain until you've had your soul scorched, your skin turned into blackness and death.

But oh, in the hospital, I began to laugh.

Because already a new plan was forming in my mind. I was always very good at planning, even at Wammy's.

Wammy's…

It wasn't a home, it was a prison. There are the few success stories, but the majority of their children turn out like me.

Disturbed.

Hehehe

Not Mad. I'm not insane.

Maybe I'm even more sane than everyone else, and that's why I can see everyone's names and lives.

L comes_ after_ B, that has always been the truth, and secretly even L knew it.

And of course, his heart weakened him.

He took one look at me in the hospital and his stupid weak heart broke. And as I knew he would, he pitied me.

It was easy to manipulate him. He was always the more emotional twin.

He put me in a lower-security room than he should have.

He visited me all the time in prison.

And then one day during visiting hours, I managed to tie him down on my cold metal bed and swapped our clothes.

He cried and tried so, so hard to get free. It made me laugh a little.

I walked out of the prison so easily…

And you know what?

Mr. Wammy didn't even realise.

Poor, poor L… it must have stung for you to realise that no-one in the world really knew you enough to know that it was I.

Haha.

I realised long ago that a name is something a person decides for themselves, and is subject to change. If one really truly believes their name is something, then it is so.

That must be have you changed yours from Liam to L.

And in the prison, you slipped into madness, and believed yourself to be BB.

So Kira could kill you.

And me?

I took over your empire.

I became L. I even got to play with your little heirs emotions, and you know what, L? Not one of them realised.

Not even your precious little Near.

It's almost sad, isn't it? None of your adoptive family realised you were gone and BB had taken your place.

But in the end, my desperation to become you destroyed me.

I changed my eating patterns, to match yours. I stopped sleeping. I curved every urge. I observed the world calmly with my enchanted eyes.

And what must have hurt you most…

I was _better_ at being L.

…But Kira was better than me.

No. No, he wasn't _better_, just trickier.

But that matters very little, doesn't it?

I turned into you. I _became L_.

Name included.

And it came to me when I saw you in the hospital for the first time. Through the fire that still danced in my pained skin.

But I was _better_ at being you than you.

Does it _hurt_?


	90. Triangle

#90 Triangle

It's an easy mistake to make when you see the heirs first. One look at Mello and Near and the assumption is that they were chosen purely on intelligence.

But then Matt sails into the picture with his games and oddly low test scores and this assumption falls down.

No-one understood it when L chose three children so different from one another to be his heirs. Near in a cocoon of silence, Mello snarling rage at anyone who dared to disagree with him, and Matt sitting somewhere between the two of them playing games and not worrying in the slightest.

Its only when you see them together that you understand.

Because for some reason, Matt isn't afraid of Mello.

And for yet another strange reason, Mello doesn't lash out at Matt.

And Near is drawn out of his shell by the two of them.

+_+_+_+

"Do you ever think maybe Sherlock knew how we'd end up?" smoke rises from Matt's mouth with his words, dispelling against the ceiling of the little bedroom.

Beside him Mello grumbles, "Put that out. I thought you said you were quitting."

Matt smirks, "The deal was I quit smoking when you quit chocolate or one of you two gets preggers."

Near, on the other side of Mello, whines sleepily and hugs his plushie panda toy tighter. "Matt seems to be lacking a basic understanding of the process of gestation and birth."

Matt reaches over and tickles a patch of pale white skin, "I was joking, love."

Mello grabs Matt's wrist as he tickles the youngest heir. "Stop that. What were you saying about L?"

Matt lays back against the pillows, arms behind his head, watching the smoke rise to the roof through his tinted goggles. "I wonder if he knew we'd end up this way. Us three, I mean." He nods at Near, "Near's a pretty obvious choice for an heir if he wanted someone exactly like him. But then he picked you too, Mells, and you're… well, no offence, but you're Near's opposite. You're like the anti-Near."

Near giggles quietly into his cuddly toy, Mello snarls, "You'd better have a point, stripey."

Matt grins in that certain way that he knows makes Mello want to smile too, "I do. Anyway, he picks you two, and then he randomly grabs me and says I'm third. I mean, my test scores weren't even third at that point."

Mello nods, "Yeah, you were still all shy too. You didn't have any friends apart from me." He smirks smugly to himself at that, mentally congratulating himself on realising at such a young age that the shy geeks grow up to be hot teenagers.

Near turns over and nuzzles Mello's chest. "Near understands why L chose three so different people."

The two older boys raise a blonde and crimson eyebrow.

Near sighs, "L could see that alone, Near could not surpass him. Near could not really _live_ on his own. L could also see that Mello alone would be reckless and careless."

Mello frowns at this, Matt strokes his arm to keep him calm.

Near smiles adorably, "L could also see that Near and Mello could never work together properly because they are so different." His pale pink eyes flicker onto Matt, "That is why we needed someone like Matt. Someone who can keep Mello's temper, and help Near communicate."

Mello blushes faintly and gnaws his chocolate bar. Matt smirks and hugs Mello around his slender waist from behind.

"We feed into one another. One cannot really live unless with the other two." Near finishes. "Now will Matt please stop asking silly questions and allow us to sleep?"


	91. Drowning

#91 Drowning

The van's slowing down now. I think he must be coming up to where-ever he plans on holding me.

He keeps muttering to himself in the front. Clinging to that crucifix around his neck and mumbling in English.

I can't understand all of it; it's been years since I took any of my English classes, and I was never very good at languages anyway. I keep hearing the name 'Matt'.

Maybe that's the name of the one in the car. The one my men killed.

Now he's onto prayers. I remember those because Light used to be excellent at translating them…

Light…

My gorgeous, wonderful, incredible Light.

And he _is_ all mine. Misa knows nothing, he never loved her and he never will. It's always been me, he said so. Since To-oh, it's always been me.

We're stopping.

He turns in the seat and looks like he wants to kill me.

"Strip, put everything in that box, and if you're thinking about disobeying me, I warn you that just lost the love of my life." He waves his gun at my head; "Right now I'd like nothing better than to shoot you then piss on your corpse."

I don't reply, just do as he says. He throws a blanket at me when I'm done.

He storms to the front of the van again, muttering and clinging to his crucifix. Fool, doesn't he know the only true god is the one who loves me?

Doesn't he realise he's in the presence of a goddess?

Mihael Kheel, today you die.

In some strange way it's probably what you want. Join your friend in the afterlife.

Forty seconds pass, and then suddenly he gasps, fist going tight around his rosary. I see some blood drip from the fist.

He falls onto the wheel and breathes no more.

I sigh and wrap the blanket he threw at me a little tighter around myself. It's so cold.

What did Light say to do now?

Write as many names as I can, and stay alive. It could be a day or two before someone finds me, so I have to be careful to stay awake and alive and safe.

I love him so much.

I start to write.

It's only when I'm halfway down the page that I realise my hand is working independent of me. I make the conscious decision to stop, but it keeps writing. I stare in horror at my own limb moving on it's own.

What's happening?

The paper filled with names, I rise to my feet, though all I want to do is kick and scream. I move to the front of the van.

That body…

No, oh god no, please…

I clench my eyes shut as my own hands move the corpse of the man… barely more than a boy, and grab the wires under the steering column.

I pull with strength I hadn't known I had and the wires snap, thin spirals of silver electricity flickering on the ends.

I move back into the rear of the van and watch my hands grasp the bottle of water Mihael left for me.

A strange kindness…

Suddenly I know.

Someone has written my name. Either Mikami or…

No. No I can't believe that Light would do this… I don't want to die; I don't want to…

The water sparks the electricity. There's a sudden smell of burning plastic.

There's nothing I can do, it goes so fast… it takes the boy's body first and I scream and cry because bad as he may have been, it's hard to watch.

And then the flames consume me. I have to sit and allow it though inside I'm screaming.

At one point I manage to open my mouth, and I breathe in fire. My throat closes.

I hadn't known…

You could drown in fire…


	92. All I Have

#92 All I Have

I never had children, in the literal sense. Oh, I've raised countless numbers of orphaned and abandoned youngsters, children who have no-where to go come to Wammy's house, but I myself have never had the joy of looking at a child and knowing they are my own.

In another sense though, I do have a son.

Oh I know really I'm old enough to be his grandfather, it scarcely matters.

Most men my age talk of their fondest memories as the day their first child was born and placed in their arms for the first time. The day their son or daughter said their first word.

Normally I would not say something like this, but when one is writing privately, one can say anything without fear.

My fondest memory of my long life is the day I met the strange and sad little boy who would grow to be the greatest detective of his time.

I remember it as clear as day, I wonder if this is the way fathers remember their children's births.

I remember standing outside the burning house, the whole street had gone up, the Winchester mad bomber had struck again. The sky was raining flickers of fire and ash that died before they hit the ground.

I remember watching the firemen fighting the blaze while we, the civilians from neighbouring streets, watched in mute shock and terror. Some were comforting the survivors who watched their homes burn.

I remember a tug at the dressing gown I had thrown around myself in my haste to see the fire.

I remember looking down and seeing a seven-year-old boy with soot smudges on his cheeks, dark black hair and eyes, skin scorched slightly pink.

I remember he choked out in a smoke-filled voice, "Help me."

Since that day the boy has never been far from my care. I should stop thinking of him as a boy, he's twenty-five now.

I'd say he'll be thinking of raising his own family soon, but I expect that is the wishful thinking of an old man who would enjoy grandchildren.

Once or twice I have slipped and called him son. He's always politely pretended not to notice.

Now and then when he's concentrating on something else, he will accidentally refer to me as 'father'. I always smile and pretend I haven't heard.

It would be too strange, I suppose, for the both of us if we acknowledged that in some small way he will always be my son, and I his father.

One night, during the Kira case, I found him sitting in front of his computer, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, staring darkly at an image of the man who blew up the street he lived on for seven years. The man who killed his parents and brother, the man who reduced him to a letter.

I sighed and patted his shoulder, "Come now, L, there's no use in upsetting yourself with memories. You did right by your family, because of you that man went to prison."

He bit his thumb. "I sometimes wish I had burned with them." He muttered.

I turned him roughly from the screen, I had not treated him in that way since he was a mere child, and the shock registered on his face.

"L, you must never say anything like that. Do you realise how much the world relies upon you? How much the other children need you? How much-"

"-Watari has put into raising L?" he finished my sentence. I hate it when he does that.

I straightened up and coughed, "Well, yes. It is something strange to admit to, but yes, L, I have poured much of myself into bringing you up."

He smiled faintly. "L is grateful for all Watari has done for him, but can't help but wonder why?"

I remember coughing and feeling awkward again, but sighing and replying, "Because that was what you asked me to do, L. Help you, and that is all I have ever done. Anything you have now you earned on your own, I merely helped you along the way, and I couldn't be prouder of what you have become." A soft sigh, "I am sure the same is true of your family."

And that is still true.

I give everything I have willingly to my strange son, because in his own strange way, he gives it back a million times over.


	93. Give Up

#93 Give up

I don't know when or how I fell so hard for him.

Probably sometime in our childhood, back when summer lasted forever and the biggest concern was what was for dinner that night. All that cliché stuff that worms its way into everyone's subconscious memory of being young.

I remember being so, so little, a fish out of water in this country. Something that follows me to this very day, being shy as a mouse, wanting to become a recluse.

But the house doesn't really allow that, they learned well from what happened to B. If a child appears to be being left alone by the others too much, with no medical issue to explain this anti-social behaviour, something is done about it.

For me, they gave me a notebook and pencil and told me to go into the garden and draw a picture of the other children playing.

In a lot of ways, I have Roger to thank for my life now.

But this isn't about me or my love affair with art; it's about the one I love.

He was already there when I arrived at the house. And he was the most anti-social boy I'd ever known.

Roger told me once that was because he had some sort of Autism. I never really learned much beyond that to explain it.

I did learn about him, though. Not through the usual channels in the house, such as 'asking Mello'. No, I had another approach.

I asked him if I could draw him.

Come to think of it now, he never said yes or no. I just started drawing before he could reply, sketching him out on my drawing board.

In time, it became a regular thing. In the afternoons, when the other children were out playing, we would sit in the common room, him with a jigsaw, me furiously drawing him.

I loved those afternoons, in the perfect world of my mind, they were always long and golden, sunlight streaming in and brightening him, glasses of cool lemonade left beside us both by one of the kindly caretakers in the house, the faint smell of sweets and dust intermingling in an oddly pleasant way.

But that's in my mind, I suppose in reality there must have been times it was a hateful exercise, but the mind has a habit of glossing those away.

I do remember vividly one day when the spring sunlight was on him, and I playfully commented, "I can almost see your wings and halo."

I must have blushed and gone straight back to drawing, but I remember he looked up and smiled faintly.

And then, one day, he was gone.

I had no right to ask where he went, so I didn't. I assumed it had something to do with why Mello had disappeared too.

That was when me and Matt… I don't know, sought solace in one another, I suppose.

My adoring public will remember him faintly from my early days in the galleries, a vague red-haired presence that accompanied me to shows, looking entirely uncomfortable in a suit and wearing those strange goggles in lieu of glasses.

We were never really right for one another, we knew that. We lived in different worlds once we grew up and left the house. Mine was bright lights in the cities, surrounded by people and wealth, painting during every hour god sent because it was the only thing I had left that brought me happiness.

His world was a shady night-time world containing only himself and people he knew by screen-name alone. I never asked what illegal things he did on his computer late into the night.

We both knew it wasn't _love._ It never was. We had a silent agreement, to care for one another for now, and the moment Mello or Near returned…

Well, Matt was lucky.

I was sitting in front of a canvas, and he walked through from another room.

"Linda," he spoke in a sheepish voice, "Mello… he contacted me… he says he needs me."

I put down my paintbrush. "Then you'd better get a move on."

"But Linda…"

Sweet, sentimental Matt. Trying to be kind, but I knew when it began how it would end.

So I simply said, "Come on Matty, we know how this ends already. You love Mello as much as I love Near. If Near had contacted me and told me he needs me… I'd already be gone."

And he left, to join the boy he'd loved his whole life long. And I waited.

I never heard from him, or Mello, ever again. I can take a wild guess at what happened to them and I can only hope it was quick and together that they went.

And then, several years later, I was in Japan for an exhibit, and an announcement played over the television, threatening yet another Kira imitator.

The announcement used L, the symbol of what almost every child at Wammy's house aimed for.

The voice was blurred by computers and mangled beyond comprehension of most people.

But I recognised it.

And I knew there and then that there was no hope. That I was wasting my life waiting for him to contact me. That sometimes, even love doesn't conquer all.

And I gave up.

Lina Dacciano

(Linda)


	94. Last Hope

#94 Last Hope

(set in movie-verse, spoilers for '_Death Note: the Last Name'_)

I have considered it long and hard, and weighed every option. After all, you can't take your own life lightly.

But then… that's what my duty is, isn't it?

My life's purpose… to stop the evil of Kira.

Yes. Yes, I am sure of that, it is my duty, neigh my very reason for being born.

All the same, it's such a hard decision to have to make.

I wonder… not that I'm comparing myself to him, of course, but I wonder if the Son of God himself felt this way, the night before the terrible sequence of events began that lead to his death?

It's a similar situation.

Someone will have to die, to stop Kira. And I could not sacrifice another life that was not mine to give.

All I have in the world that is truly mine is my own life.

Still…

That nagging feeling, that little voice I can't seem to silence…

'What if you're wrong?'

What if Light Yagami isn't Kira? And Misa has nothing to do with the case? What then?

I'll have given my life for nothing.

No. I've never been wrong about these things before.

But that it should come to this…

Watari has tried to talk me out of it several times, my faithful companion. He's been like a father to me since I was orphaned.

I have told him to take solace in the fact that there will be more L's.

Perhaps I should take solace in that too. There's a whole alphabet of people out there in the world, graduates of Wammy's House, gifted men and women who are even now striving to make the world better, safer. In a way, each one is a son or daughter of Watari.

I suppose it just hurts Watari more because I am the one he's closest to. His favourite, so to speak.

But there will be more L's. It's somewhat comforting; there will be others like me.

I lift the pen and stare at the open notebook.

I've not written my true name for so many years, it takes a moment to remember it.

If this doesn't work…

No, that is foolish thinking, it has to work. It _will_ work. Light Yagami _is_ Kira, and with my sacrifice, the world will see justice done unto him.

But…

No. No more buts.

_L Lawliet, dies peacefully in 21 days._

There.

No going back now. If I'm wrong…

No, I'm not wrong. I've never been wrong in my judge of character before.

I hope with every fibre of my being that this time, more than ever, I'm right.


	95. Advertisement

#95 Advertisement

I fell in love with your image at first. That beautiful long golden hair and those eyes like stars filled with sapphires, lips exactly the same colour as peaches, unless you were wearing make-up… then they were rubies.

I could write an epic poem about your lips, the shape of a cupid's bow, pouting so prettily, smiling…

But always, always, there was that same sadness in your eyes. I looked into your past to find out why, trying to convince myself I was merely curious.

I found out we were more alike than I ever could have hoped.

We had both lost our whole family in one dreadful night.

We both lost out on seeing the man who did it punished.

But it was so much worse for you, you had no-one. I at least had Watari to protect me, at so young an age.

You were suddenly alone, bright and beautiful and so delicate. Like a butterfly caught in the breeze.

In some small way, I fell in love with your pain.

And then the day we met…

Seeing you in the flesh, full of smiles and a joy I knew had to be false, because inside you had to be hurting so very much, hearing your voice…

Your voice sounds to me like diamonds shattering. A strange metaphor, but the only thing I can thing of that beings to describe that sound. Rich and sweet, innocence embodied somehow tragic and beautiful at the same time.

But you loved _him_.

I wanted to scream at you that he wasn't anywhere near good enough, that he didn't deserve you.

I wanted to fall at your feet and whisper that no-one in the world deserved you, I have seen the world and it is filled with ugly people, none of whom deserve to look upon you.

I would not be so presumptuous to say that I was what you deserved. I'm not. I'm probably even less worthy that Light was, I am a liar and a cheat, childish, but with an edge of cruelty that is so very adult.

You were the very person I was hunting down.

You can never know how much it hurt me to do those things to you. I tried to think of some way, _any_way I could free you.

But no. You were the butterfly, and I the monster who captured you and kept you in a jam jar. Watched you beat against the glass until your beauty drained away and you fell, half-dead, to the floor.

And even then, god, I loved you.

People around me told me it was stupid, mindless, and far too risky to love you, but I did anyway.

I let you free eventually. I knew you were not innocent, but god help me, I am a weak human, and all I wanted was to see you free, I wanted to believe you had nothing to do with the ugliness in the world.

It broke me every time you held his arm or kissed his cheek. But I said nothing, because, when you love someone truly, you want her to be happy, even with someone else. Someone who doesn't deserve her, who will never appreciate her for the angel she is.

I think that advertisement was what finally did it. You know the one, for some make-up or another, I wasn't really paying attention to the product.

It showed everything about you that I once worshipped, avid fan of your image that I was.

That giggle, those eyes, those lips, that hair…

But having grown to know you, and having seen your ugly side too…

Misa…

Your eyes are not stars filled with sapphires, they're blue.

Your hair is not spun flaxen gold, it's blonde.

Your lips are not peaches nor rubies, they're just flesh colour.

In the words of the great bard himself, "And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare/ As any she belied with false compare."

With all the evil things you had done, I loved you still.

And that, Misa, is why I sit here now, imperfect and unworthy, loving you plainly and simply just for being you.

"Ryuzaki, the commercial's over."


	96. In the Storm

#96 In the Storm

It was the middle of summer, and as always, there was a thunderstorm in the muggy, moonlit air. Not usually anything to worry the children of Wammy's house, they tended to consider the storms an interesting scientific phenomenon rather than anything to be scared of.

Many of them waited all afternoon for the dark clouds above the house to break, but nothing happened. There was some rain during dinner, which sent many of the children scurrying to the windows to see the lightening, but it remained stubbornly hidden.

Finally, around ten o'clock, it broke.

There was a sudden bright light, and then the sound of the world being broken like an eggshell.

Some of the children, excited, leapt out of their beds and peered out their windows to see if it would hit one of the nearby trees and split it open, or maybe set fire to it, either way, it was always exciting to watch.

And then the lightening hit something on the house, an electricity boost raced through all the wires and blew out the entire fuse box, sending the building into total blackness.

Some of the younger children whose night-lights had suddenly shuddered into darkness started screaming.

But in his room, Mello just groaned and turned over in bed, pulling the covers up and over his blonde hair and muttering to himself about the idiocy of those kids.

He was almost asleep again when he heard the door to his room open.

At first he only tensed a little, figuring it was Roger or on of the other caretakers, checking to see if the children were ok.

Then the door clicked shut and he distinctly heard the lock being turned.

You could only lock that door from the inside.

Mello didn't believe in ghosts and monsters…

But there were all those stories the children whispered to one another… about a spirit of someone who was murdered in Wammy's house… she stalked the corridors looking for her murderer…

So the story went, Mello's room belonged to that murderer, once.

Mello shivered and curled up tighter, one hand grasped the string of rosaries around his neck.

The unseen thing lifted the edge of his quilt. He clenched his eyes shut and began silently praying that he'd still be alive when the night was over.

The 'thing' seized hold of him and Mello opened his mouth and eyes to scream.

Only to breathe in a scent that was familiar. Cotton and plastic.

And as his eyes adjusted to the blackness, he could see the faint outline of something in his bed, something _human_.

And why would a ghost be hugging him, anyway?

"Near, you little prick, what're you doing in my room?" Mello hissed venomously, to cover up that he had been scared out of his mind only seconds earlier.

Near nuzzled his face into Mello's pyjama shirt and whined.

Mello blinked. "Are you… scared?"

The little shape nodded into Mello's side and clung tighter as another lightening bolt struck nearby.

Mello smirked, It was rare he every got a chance like this to humiliate and upset Near.

Just as he was deciding to shove Near from his bed and throw him back into the dark corridor, a voice in the back of Mello's mind squeaked, _stop._

Mello frowned.

_He's only a little kid. I know we hate him, but c'mon, he's alone and scared, it won't hurt just to let him stay a while. Just until the storm passes._

Mello bit his lip, then sighed and placed one arm gently around the shivering little shape that clung to him like a limpet.

"You can stay til the storm's over, and then you can piss off back to your room." Mello snapped. "And don't think this means we're friends."

Near nodded slowly and closed his eyes.

XOXOXOXOXO

When Mello woke up the next morning, Near was gone, leaving no sign that what occurred last night had happened, and the storm had passed.


	97. Safety First

#97 Safety First

Matsuda hadn't had many successes in the romance department. Well, he hadn't had many successes anywhere else, but that was where it stung the most.

It wasn't that he was unattractive, he was sure of that. He was boyishly good-looking, looked a lot younger than he was. And it wasn't the intelligence thing that drove people away, he wasn't the brightest, but he was adorably dumb, and he was fine with that.

It wasn't as if he didn't make the effort, after all he was still young, and most weekends he would dress himself up a bit and go out into the Tokyo night looking for pick-ups.

It barely ever worked. Even when he managed to somehow convince someone to come back to his apartment with him it usually ended in disaster when he knocked over some candles and set fire to the sofa or spilled a drink over them or on one memorable occasion, managed to accidentally lock them in the bathroom for most of the night.

But tonight was going to be different! He was determined!

He'd been on his best behaviour the last two dates they'd been on, and now finally, they were going to spend a night together… in Matsuda's apartment. It just _had_ to go well. He'd never felt like this before about anyone, more than anything he just wanted tonight to go well.

He was now in a much nicer apartment in the task force HQ, everything looked clean and modern and… well, better than he could afford, really.

He gleefully moved around the place, lighting the various candles. Then he had second thoughts and blew them out.

Then third thoughts came in and he re-lit a few of them.

There was a bottle of wine in the fridge, he took it out and placed it with two glasses on the coffee table. Then he remembered what happened the last time and removed one of the glasses.

That made it look unfinished, so he gave up altogether and replaced the bottle in the fridge.

Then there was the bedroom…

Matsuda swallowed nervously. Should he light some candles in here? Or would that make it look like he was expecting something?

But surely the visitor was too, or else why would they want to come up to his apartment?

Even so, it might look a bit presumptuous…

He decided against it and checked himself in the mirror for what had to be the thousandth time.

Nothing special, jeans and a clean shirt.

Maybe he out to grab a tie, make himself look professional? Or would that be too boring and stiff?

Maybe a few buttons undone?

God no, it made him look untidy and anyway, his skin was too pale.

But what if they liked that?

He bit his lip and unbuttoned the top two.  
What about the jeans? Ok, they were nice ones, but not the best pair he owned…

He checked his watch; there was time to change if he hurried.

He'd forgotten that his best pair of jeans were very tight-fitting and hard to get on quickly. He ended up wrestling with the damn denim for two minutes until he finally managed to zip and button them.

He checked his reflection and frowned, now he looked like he was trying too hard, should have stuck with the other ones. He turned to the bed.

Damn it, he'd been so busy rolling around on the bed trying to pull the jeans up that he'd made a mess of the bedclothes, it looked like he never bothered to tidy up.

He yanked the covers into a somewhat tidy position and sighed, knowing it still wasn't as perfect as he wanted, he reached over to re-arrange the pillows and promptly fell face-first onto his bed.

There was a knock at the door and he yelped. Automatically he called, "Come in!" before his brain could catch up with his mouth.

He heard the door open and the shuffle of footsteps. He wriggled violently, trying to re-gain his footing.

"I'm in the bedroom!" He called, once again, before his brain could grab hold of the words and shape them into something that didn't make him appear to have a one-track mind.

Instantly the shape of the one he so adored appeared in the doorway, head tilted slightly at the predicament. Matsuda blushed violently.

"…Matsuda-kun looks very cute tonight." That monotone was tinged with mirth. "I blew out the candles on my way in. I didn't think we'd be spending much time out there, and I hardly want the building burnt down."

Matsuda's mouth dropped open.

L smirked very faintly. "Safety first, Matsuda-kun."


	98. Puzzle

#98 Puzzle

My mentor, my hero, my only family.

That's how he's categorised in my mind.

Or at least, that's what I try to categorise him as, but the thing about L is that one _can't_ pin him down to a simple definition. He's made of layers, and every time you remove one, there's another, yet more complex one.

Still, of all people in the world, I'm probably one of the closest to him.

He was the one who brought me to Wammy's house, with Watari, of course. But he was the one who held my hand and kept reassuring me, because I was so little and afraid.

I've never been afraid when he was nearby. So long as L is in the world, I have nothing to fear.

He brought me countless jigsaws and puzzles, but my favourite one is the one with his name on it.

I remember the day he gave it to me.

He came into my room, on one of his very few visits home, and placed the cardboard box in front of me.

"Present." He said calmly, crouching beside me on the floor.

I blinked and lifted the lid slowly. "…You got me a new jigsaw?"

"It's a special one, only one like it in the whole world."

I tilted my head at the hundreds of tiny white pieces, instinctively picking up the base and starting to place them.

"Thank you." I mumbled. Emotionless as I may seem, lately L made me shy.

He nodded and watched me work, I hoped he was impressed with how fast I could solve a puzzle with no picture to give me clues.

I tensed when I felt his hand on my shoulder, large and skeletal… I often thought he looked like he was made out of spare parts, so nothing about him really matched.

"Near, I'm going to take the Kira case."

I swallowed and continued placing pieces. "Have you told Mello?"

He coughed, "Yes."

"And you have lied and told him you will stop Kira."

He sighed and I knew he was giving me that hurt look. I kept placing pieces. How dare he do this? Because I am ranked #1 in the house, he believes that he can't hurt me with the news that this… this will be his last case…

"Near, I have to ask a favour of you."

I clenched my eyes shut.

"I believe I will die on this case, Near. And I need to rely on someone to take care of things for me. I trust you more than anyone else in the world."

I didn't reply, half of the jigsaw complete.

"I want you to look after Mello for me. He's bright, but reckless, and I know he doesn't seem to like you, but if you will only keep an eye on him…" he sighed. "And Near… you have it within you to be better than me one day. Promise me that when that day comes, you'll stop Kira."

He reached around me to place a piece for me. All but one corner was done now.

"Will you do those things for me?"

What else could I say?

"Yes."

He rose and left the room slowly.

I hated him at that moment. I wasn't ready to know that he would die soon, he was so concerned for Mello, and he had no consideration for how this effected me.

I finished the corner of the jigsaw.

There was his name…

I understood then. This was his way of letting me know…

He had chosen me.


	99. Solitary

#99 Solitary

The Wammy Diamond, that's what they called me.

Not that I'm really that egotistical, but the boys at the house _all_ fancied me when I lived there.

I suppose it could have been because for whatever reason, there weren't as many girls as there were boys in the house. Not out of any latent sexism, they just don't tend to show up as often. When I was there it was just me and three other girls, and I just happened to be the prettiest.

Not sure which one of them came up with the diamond nickname, but I know it was right around the time that Moulin Rouge film came out, so it was probably someone trying to be funny.

I guess it was kind of flattering.

Damn it if I wasn't the smartest one there too. I even got to be one of the letter children. You know, the kids who get sent all over the world righting wrongs and so fourth. The kids with a symbol.

This was before L was old enough to become the _best_ symbol. I only spoke to him twice, through the network.

I heard through my channels that there's four or five little girls at the house at the moment. L speaks very highly of one called Linda, says she has it in her to be the greatest artist of our time.

But then L's always preferred the kids to the adults. Kids don't lie and see things in a complicated way like we do.

Anyway, I left the house to be one of the letters. Aiber left too, but from what I hear, he went straight into crime, no stops along the way. Can't say I'm surprised.

Then I… well; I saw how much more _fun_ it looked to be one of the pro criminals. The ones who somehow managed to stay a few steps ahead.

Oh, you have to be smart to pull it off and tough too, because it takes a lot to get to the top and stay there.

I don't want to sound big-headed, but there's three things I'm sure of in the world: One, I'm smart. Two, I'm sexy. Three, I'm tough.

I managed it. Would have stayed there forever if I hadn't got careless one night during a jewel heist in Spain.

Gems are my own little weakness, I admit. Never could resist a sparkling stone. That's not why I got that nickname though, I only discovered jewels after I left the house and went into the world on my own.

This time it got me in trouble. I got caught by Coil.

I knew who it was when he walked in. Coil, my foot. That teenager with messy hair and clothes that should have had the fashion police running wasn't Coil.

I remember smiling sweetly and greeting him with, "Hello, L."

He'd stopped where he was and stared at me, wondering, doubtless, how I knew.

"Your necklace, sweetheart." I cooed. "If you don't want to be recognised by one of the letter children, don't wear it."

His hand darted to the little square on a chain around his neck, covering that prettily-designed 'L' symbol that became so famous during the Kira case.

"I will remember that." He replied. "W, I presume?"

I laughed, "No need to be formal, I'm Wedy, sweetheart." I crossed my legs and leant back in the chair they'd given me, "So are you going to tell me how disappointed old Mr. Wammy is in me? Breaking the law and so fourth?"

He shook his head slowly. I swear his hair _bristled_. "So far no-one has been hurt because of your crimes. And in any case, I believe that you are only committing them for entertainment."

I raised an eyebrow, "You're a perceptive one."

He nodded. "For the time being, you will not be prosecuted. However, I would like to offer you a job. I could use someone with your skills and contacts in the underworld."

I refused. He still persisted in giving me a card with a single phone number on it, voicing the opinion that "It can be a very lonely world out there."

Damn it, he was right. Wammy must have spent a lot of time training that one.

It ate away at me. The idea that maybe I was _lonely_. Oh, I had a lot of nice stuff and my gemstones, but at the end of the day I was by myself most of the time.

I worked out _where_ he was by the phone number he left me. I wasn't going to be predictable, that would have been too embarrassing.

I broke into his home, the security there was a joke, one alarm system, and not a top-of the range one either. The place looked like an unfurnished attic, the only things in there was a laptop and a big armchair.

I almost made off with the laptop just to be spiteful to him for not being there.

Then the door to that room opened and there was Mr. Wammy.

He smiled. He always was a nice old idiot.

"Ah, the diamond of the house has returned, I see. L told me to expect you at some point."

I could have strangled the kid when I saw him again. I hate it when people try to predict what I'll do, even more so when they get it right.

Still, the kid was perceptive enough to know I was lonely.

Maybe it was just that he noticed _what_ I stole.

Clusters.

Gemstones all huddled together, sparkling and shining off of one another.

I never liked solitary diamonds.


	100. Relaxation

#100 Relaxation

There is a place… no, not so much a place… a _collection_ of places, somewhere in among the vast and incredible things that for want of a better word, we refer to as dimensions.

Getting there is both simple, and difficult.

Finding the places…

Look at the spaces between shadows and light, at the dark black centre of a flame on a candle, at the things that really, truly are incredible… and you may catch sight of them.

They are at one and the same time simple and complex. Some are filled with people, others occupy only one.

There is one filled with a suburban street, and in it a beautiful young Japanese couple, the woman with eyes darker than they ought to be, as though she is haunted by deeds done. The husband holds her often and tells her calmingly that there's no need for her to have to stay so strong anymore, if she wants, she can cry and be vulnerable, and he won't ever think any less of her.

She is impressed by his ability to know when she is feeling a failure, and the way he can always bring her out of the gloomy trance it puts her in. Often she is overwhelmed by the feeling of realisation that it is for that very reason that she fell in love with him to begin with.

There is another place, a beach where the sun is always about to set. An old man sits there on the sand, staring out to the ocean. Sometimes people pass and ask him what he is waiting for.

He replies "Sachiko… this is where we went on our honeymoon. I promised her I'd meet her here."

He is a devoted man, both to his job and his family. That is probably why sometimes his beach clouds over and storms rock the ocean, remembering the son and wondering _where_ it all went wrong.

Age has no meaning in these places. There is a man who lives now as a child, re-living his childhood how it should have been, without the traumas that sent him spiralling into insanity. He runs and plays with his mother and father, the children at school are all _good _and his friends. They name Teru class president over and over.

Sometimes he cries about what he did before. But he knows that the very fact that he begs forgiveness proves that he deserves this place of his own.

There is a place filled with flashing lights and beautiful ballgowns. A blonde woman walks down the red carpet over and over again, sometimes holding the hand of a little brother, brought along for the premiere, or stood between proud parents, smiling like nothing in the world would ever be wrong again.

Ah, there, look closely now, you might miss it otherwise.

A large place, this one.

There's the huge country house, and the grounds full of children laughing and playing, so full of possibilities. Among them, there's a man, laying on his back in the grass, arms behind his head, and he's smiling. He looks so gaunt and thin you might think this is the first time he's ever smiled.

He has good reason to be happy. Near him sit two boys, younger than him by a few years, one with crimson hair, clad in stripes, the other blonde and leather-wearing. They're laying in one another's arms, looking so natural together one might wonder if they had been born that way.

There is a sense that the blonde has spent his life being angry and competitive, it's only now that he can really just enjoy being.

On his other side…

He could almost be his twin. Perhaps they _are_ twins, it's hard to tell.

But there is a difference, subtle, and visible only to someone who knows where to look. This other boy's eyes are tinted strangely, so that when the light is just right, one can see they are red, not black like the original. He turns over and clutches his doppelganger's arm lovingly.

An old man approaches the four with a tray of angel cakes. The four boys burst out laughing at some inside joke.

Past this peaceful place there is a strange parody of hundreds of love stories being played out. A man on one knee before a woman, behind them the Eiffel tower.

She smiles and holds out her hand to his almost too-handsome face. He places the ring, a cluster of diamonds, upon her finger and as they kiss, fireworks light the sky.

Tomorrow it might be elsewhere, an American venue, perhaps, if she can think of one. She whispers into his ear as they embrace that he's a sucker for a good cliché, proposing in Paris.

He replies in French, just to see how pretty she is when irked.

Between the places fly creatures that were once monsters of bone and bandage, made to bring death.

But they died for love, and there is no greater thing in this or any other world than the power of love.

It turned them from sand into what they are now. The two of them flying in beautiful patterns, a tall, pale, beautiful woman, long lavender hair flowing down her back, a gown of white.

A young man, skin mottled with scars and stitches, mis-matched eyes, and slightly stubby fingers… but oh; he is beautiful and happy at long last.

No longer gods and glad to be rid of the titles.

They happily take their new duty of being guardians. Perhaps it was what they were always born to do.

There are other places. Many, many more. Relaxing little pockets of time.

Filled with people who, after long, hard lives of being basically good, kind, decent and _human_, have earned their relaxation in heaven.

_Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you have enjoyed these 100 little stories, I can't say I enjoyed writing all of them, as the ideas didn't always come easy, but I certainly have enjoyed all of your thoughts and comments, and I have to say, looking at all those titles in the chapter list… I'm a little sad its over… but really, very proud. :)_

_Your humble author  
Esk_


End file.
